Satin Roses
by SunnyWallflower
Summary: After being fired for her fifth job that year, Corrine Flynn is presented with an opportunity of a lifetime: to work in Strata. However, life in Strata will begin to pose challenges on her that she would never had expected. (REWRITTEN AS DIGITALIS if you want to know why just PM me)
1. How to live without a soul

_Hey my loyal and probably weary readers, I want to thank you for your support and beg you to forgive my sporadically written posts. This is my new story based on Style Savvy. Any brand names and Style Savvy don't belong to me even though I wish they did. Along with my Harvest Moon fanfic, I will be writing these chapters randomly when I have time and I will not be grammatically correct all the time because these stories are my creative outlets and it becomes less fun writing when hunting for grammatical errors. I know this is not an excuse but I'm almost done being a junior in high school and hopefully be done with my SATs; this means that I can focus on writing more hopefully. I again, I humbly thank all of my readers and hope that you will all give me some helpful reviews._

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><p>Okay, I'm in control of this little situation. Not this snooty Valley girl with her shiny Cartier watch and glossy black hair. Oh God, I really shouldn't come to work today; I should have said that my aunt died, I mean Tooth Decay Derry doesn't know how many aunts I have. Oh joy, now she's calling him over although how she manages this while screeching like a banshee is beyond me. All the while, her boyfriend just sits there so still like a statue contemplating suicide. Well I have five seconds to come up with an excuse because what Tooth Decay Derry lacks in dental hygiene he makes up for in speed. Except, that electric blue Burberry coat is too gorgeous for words! Even at this moment, my eyes still catch a glimpse of the sartorial beauty. Can I help not being pulled in by its sumptuous cherry red lining and the detail in the quilted fabric? It's been in<em> Nuances<em> for Pete's sake! But, now, that beautiful coat is soiled by the cappuccino I spilled on it, accidentally, and it's banshee of an owner.

"Derry! I demand to know why you hired this idiot and why she spilled cappuccino all over my five-hundred dollar Calvin Klein dress and my new Burberry coat!" The banshee pokes Derry in his chest forcefully, which startles him.

"Oh darling Sasha, I am so sorry!" Furious, Derry wheels around and bowls me over with his eggy breath. "Corrine, what is the meaning of this? Miss de Bonne is a valued patron and I hoped you would have treated her as such! Sasha, dear, what can I do for you? Would you like for me to send everything to dry cleaning?"

"No, I'm an adult. I can do that by myself. What I want is to return to this restaurant free of her!" Pouting her plump lips, Sasha's rail-thin arm points dramatically towards me.

"What! It was only an accident and I offered to have it cleaned! There really is no need to be so drastic Mr. Derry. Please, I need this job. I have no other options." Since I'm going to be fired, I have nothing to lose which is why I'm begging on my knees. Despite the fact that Miss de Bonne (what does "de Bonne" mean anyway, consumer of bon bons?) is smirking, I can't care because I need this job. Badly. Half of the people in this restuarnt feel bad for me while the other half thinks that I should be lit on fire; so I have a fifty/fifty chance. Mr. Derry gives me a pitying stare and for a moment I feel hope. Until he opened his mouth.

"You're fired."

The instant the word "fired" hit me, the room and everything else fell into slow motion. All I can hear is Derry's voice sluggishly telling me, "My decision is final, Miss Flynn. You can call Maggie to send you your last check but right now I want you out of this restaurant right now!"

My lips trembled as I pick myself up from Tooth Decay Derry's feet and defiantly I say, "Fine, I'm leaving. But the next time I call this dinky little restaurant it will be to make a reservation!"

Without a word more, I turn on my heels and push through the front door in the smoothest manner I can manage. Humph I don't need him or that crappy restaurant that charges twenty dollars for a can of Chef Boyardee. Oh wait, I duck my head in the door for one last time to say, "By the way, Miss Sasha, that cream sauce you enjoyed so much on your salmon wasn't cream sauce at all. Do the math."

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><p>Brilliant, I manage to get myself fired from my fifth job this year. I'm contemplating on what jobs I haven't failed this year and consider being a mall elf, however, I'm so close to breaking out; all I need is more money and time. My collection is almost completed it's just missing that special something and a few days ago I discovered what it was. So, a few days ago I visited my favorite fabric store, Spire, (only for fun because it's perfectly fine to window shop) to find the loveliest fabric in the world. It's pale champagne pink that shines in the light as you move the silky fabric with small blue butterflies dotted all over it. It's perfect except that it costs twenty-four dollars per yard of fabric and I need quite a bit. You see that last missing something was a knee-length kimono styled dress. The inspiration for my collection was a Far East meets party girl look, which I think is a great. However, most buyers I met up with don't share my vision and find it too grand, telling me to put it on the back burner and make something safe like prom dresses (only in hell, ruled by orange orangutans that call themselves Jersey girls, will I even dare).<p>

My cell phone rings and brings me out of my self-pitying stupor. The caller id says Myra and I feel tempted to turn off my phone. Myra is my adopted sister from South Korea, younger to be exact, who is a successful interior designer heading the famous Malaise design firm. The instant she moved to New York, Myra and I became roomies which meant we would split the rent half-and-half. This was a great arrangement until she became famous, got more money, and moved into an expensive modern penthouse. For the first few months I did fine by myself until I got fired from my first job and dropped out of law school, which meant that my parents would excommunicate me and cut off my monthly allowance, and eventually, Myra, who got wind of this, forced me to move in with her. Two years later and I'm still paying rent to my younger sister. Sad I know; pathetic I acknowledge. I could just hear Myra saying, "I told you so. Go back to law school." in a fake Asian accent.

Sighing in defeat, I turn off my cell phone and walk down the block into the shopping district. Shoving my frozen hands into the soft, downy pockets of my cream colored Marc Jacobs cocoon coat which I managed to practically steal in a sample sale, miles and miles of boutiques show off pin thin mannequins garbed in bright beautiful outfits to instill further jealously and lust within me. Abruptly my calfskin boots stop in their tracks and my eyes brighten in disbelief. Furiously, I scrub my eyes to make sure they're clean as I read the gigantic sign that seems to be heaven sent. Strata is having a sale, REPEAT STRATA IS HAVING A SALE! Strata never has a sale. Ever. Fifty percent off on everything in store and what just happens to be in the window display out front? Those Sonata mules I've been begging Santa for (I know it's a bit immature but I have an inner child I need to satiate once in a while). Sea foam green satin topped off with a satiny bow in the same color and trimmed in lace. Its kitten heels are the perfect height and the soles give the impression of walking on a cloud; I know this because I've tried these shoes on ten times. Each time I had to turn away and make the hardest decision in my life (at the moment I mean). And now… I have a chance. A chance at happiness… even if that happiness costs eighty dollars.

"Excuse me… miss?" A hand gently touches my shoulder and I realize that I've been drooling in a stupor. Turning around, my face meets a warm but nervous smile. It's the boy toy that sat so complacently while Sasha de Banshee screamed shrilly (I dare you to say "Sasha screamed shrilly" three times fast).

Putting on my most hostile expression, I growled, "What do you want? An arm or a leg along with my job?"

"Miss, I'm really sorry for Sasha's actions. I had no idea that she could be that irrational and petty." Nervously, he runs his fingers through his coffee-colored hair. His face is red with embarrassment and his demeanor seems so genuine that I decide to soften my dagger-filled glare.

"Whatever. I sucked at waitressing anyway: could never keep track of the tables, always late. She only did everyone a favor." Shrugging noncommittally, I stare back into the window and proceed to ignore him.

"Miss… May I know your name?"

"Corrine Flynn and yours?" I ask out of political correctness.

"Dominic Strata." It takes a few seconds for me to process this and when it does my jaw drops. He sees my expression and chuckles. Like a clairvoyant angel, he points into the window. "Yes, that Strata. Do you see anything that interests you?"

Shaking my head, I reject his offer in spite of how much I wanted this. I can't take advantage of his kindness, my mom raised me better than that. "Oh no, I couldn't do that to you. Really, unless it's a job." I joke. His face turns red in embarrassment and I immediately apologize. "That's not what I meant. It's not your fault I lost my job." _Maybe your girlfriend's_.

"Look, I'm really sorry that I didn't stop Sasha. And I would like to repay you. Please allow me to have that honor." He sees my reluctant face and starts to shuffle around his pockets. "Look, if you really need a job I have a proposition."

Excuse me? If he's going to say what I'm thinking he's going to say, then he'll be walking home with a limp. "You said you need a job, right? We have an opening at Strata; the position is an assistant-stylist. What I mean is that you have to be interviewed first. You will need to call this number and tell them that Dominic told you to call about the job. Miss Flynn, I cannot tell you enough how sorry I am about Sasha. Hopefully, I will see you later." He takes my hand and puts a card in it and closes my hand gently.

He starts to walk away while snow begins to fall and I stare in a shocked response. There are miracles. Suddenly, my feet burst with renewed energy and I run after him. Knowing that I'll never catch up to him, I yell, "Thank you!"

Dominic's head peers over his shoulder and his warm green eyes crinkle amusedly. Before walking away, his lips form a small smile that tells me that this can only be the beginning.


	2. Can a state of mind be lovely?

"You're insane. Corrine, do you really think he was serious about a job?" Myra tosses her jet black hair back skeptically. Tuning her out, I button up my polka dot blouse and deem my peter pan collar to be appropriate for my job interview. Standing in front of my floor-length mirror and stare at myself: black bandage miniskirt, opaque black tights, black and white polka-dot blouse and aqua suede booties. Very professional if I may say so myself. Myra leans against the carved wooden post of my bed and rubs her forehead frustratingly. My sister was a born paranoid who needed to take five minutes to decide what kind of cereal she wanted. It took her ten months to decide whether or not to accept her engagement even then she was slightly hesitant.

People always feel compelled to tell us that we're so different for sisters. She's a porcelain Korean doll with the coolest asymmetrical hair cut. I'm a pale English-Irish hybrid with hair so thick it has broken ten combs in its lifetime so far. With high marks and being valedictorian of her class, Myra graduated art school with flying colors. With slightly-higher-than-average marks and also being valedictorian of my class, I dropped out of law school in an epiphany that I never wanted to be a lawyer or a bureaucratic zombie like my parents designed for me. Even our parents treat us differently, for example: on my sixteenth birthday my parents insisted on a low key event but on Myra's it was an opulent bash that my parents insisted on. It's always been difficult to live with my parents but they spoil my sister to the point of giving her practically everything. That's probably why I tried so hard to impress them by going to law school—at least then they sent me a Christmas card that didn't say "Happy Birthday Susie."

"Mom and Dad have been calling." Myra says nonchalantly. "I think that you should go back to law school, Corrine. It's the only logical thing you could really do at this point."

"Of course, living life in a bureaucratic hell is totally fun." My voice drips sarcasm.

"At least give them a call. They miss you a lot."

Hesitantly, I put on my red DKNY coat and pause. Softly, I say, "Alright. I'll call them later. But if they try to push me into anything remotely lawyerly I'll never talk to them again. Can you give them that little message?"

Myra smiles one of her rare smiles which makes the whole ordeal worthwhile and I leave the house wondering if she hypnotized me in some bewitching way.

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><p>"One caramel mocha tall, please." I say to a sullen teenager after waiting ten minutes for the line to end. "That's all."<p>

An arm pushes through and comes between me and stops me from handing my credit card to the confused teen. "Excuse me, one coffee black."

Indignantly, I cry out. "Excuse you! Haven't you heard ladies first?"

"Look, I'm in a hurry so can you save it for someone who cares?"

"Wow, you're a real charmer. Do you get all the ladies with that line?"

"Are you two together?" The teen says bored, pointing between the rude douche and me. At the same time, we both exclaim, "No!" and look at each other weirdly. Like lightning, I'm struck by the familiar face that is as shocked as I am.

"Joe?"

"Corri, what a coincidence!"

"Hey!" A gruff voice from the back of the line yells at us. Realizing we were holding back the line, Joe drops a ten and we take our drinks. Sitting at a table near a window, I can see traces of the old Joe I knew— brown eyes with an amused smile paired with an infectious mischievous grin. His shock of obsidian hair flares upwards and his square-rimmed glasses are pushed up against his face. His style has changed though: blue-and-white checkered shirt underneath a tan nylon parka with black jeans over a pair of brogues.

"I'm really sorry about that. But I have an important client today and my boss, Satan, has been pushing up on me for so long I think I'm going to become an axe murderer. On a happier note, it's been so long. How have you been?"

"Good. I'm sorry for bitching at you too. What about you?" Nodding, I give him a brave smile for some unfathomable reason. It's been four years since we've last seen each other in law school. I only spent a year in law school but we met at parties before from mutual friends. Embarrassingly enough, I had a crush on him during our year in law school and acted like a complete dork around him—tripping in front of him and whoever was his girlfriend at the time, crashing into street lamps when we passed by each other and one time I tried to kiss him when I was drunk. Suffice to say, I looked like a major creep to him.

"Well, I just moved to New York and I'm working for that law firm, Hammer and Stein. The pay is good but the actual work is soporific."

"Wow, Hammer and Stein, what happened to that guitar-playing slacker from a small town in Indiana?" Jokingly, I laugh.

"Well he had to grow up, right? What was he going to do? Go back to Cowspoke, Indiana where people think AC/DC is an electrical appliance?" Smiling, Joe takes another sip of his coffee. "What about you? What brings you to the Big Apple?"

"Nothing much." I shrug noncommittally. "I've always loved New York so it was only logical to go."

"I saw your sister on the cover of this month's _Good Housekeeping_." _Who hasn't? Well… I haven't yet but I'll check it out soon._ "Tell her I said congratulations and good luck."

"Sure will." Both of us look at our watches at the same time and share a laugh until we see what time it is. "Shit. Joe, it's nice to see you again but I have to go. Job interview."

"I have to go too. Work. Hey." Before I turn to leave, Joe takes a pen from his pocket and scribbles a phone number on my hand. "Call me, maybe we can get together for lunch."

"Okay." I bit my bottom lip in order to hide the smile that's fighting to burst. Jesus, it's like university all over again except for the occasional pimples and nervous stutter.

"I'll see you later, Joe." Reluctantly, I turn around the other direction and start to walk away.

"Corri, it feels great to see you!"

"Thanks!" I say for no reason at all and feel déjà vu from the Sasha incident. Happily, I take another look at the messy writing on my hand and sigh contentedly. Today is going to be a good day. I just know it.

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><p>Today is not a good day. Slumping against the wall in the stock room, I bury my head in my hands. I got the job alright. The job in Hell. The instant I walked into the store, an impeccably dressed woman with maroon hair named Grace Wright torpedoes her way through the ocean of boisterous shoppers. She grabs my arm and asks if I'm the newbie, which I assume is yes. Then, she drags me to a waiting line in front of a cash register and tells me to ring them up. Without a word, she leaves me to the horde of wealthy vultures who all wield their French manicured nails well. I completely forgot that Strata was having a sale even though I was pressing my face up the glass of the store window the day before. Luckily numerous jobs in the restaurant industry prepared me for this and I lived. I'm alive, all right, with a pounding migraine. It feels like a hammer is pounding a chisel with incredible force like a brutish artist with no aim. At least the day is over.<p>

"Corrine? Are you in here?" Red light reflecting off her hair indicates that Grace is here. She sees me on the floor in my pitiful state and gently asks. "What are you doing in here? Don't you want to go home?"

"Uh…" My brain is fried to the point where I can only make a groaning sound.

"I know today was screwed up but that was the last day of the sale so things will slow down. Renee and I feel so terrible for making you do all that work. It was totally messed up." She offers me gum which I accept gratefully.

"Thank you. How do you live like this?"

She pauses for a moment. "I always loved fashion and I believe that clothes can help a person feel great in difficult times. Besides my mom works in _Nuances_ as a fashion editor, so I've always been around fashion. Don't worry, we only hold sales after certain holidays which means you're safe for a month or so."

Checking my watch, I say, "Thanks, I think today was just overwhelming but with some sleep I'll probably recharge. Time for me to go. I have a party to go to."

"Yep, I have to go too. Having dinner with my fiancée and his parents; it's their first time in New York so I get to show them around because my fiancée only moved here a year ago." Her face is lit up like a Christmas tree and I can't help but put on a smile. We both leave in the same direction and continue to talk with each other until we reach my sister's penthouse apartment. My migraine has left me and I am overcome with relief.

"I'll see you later."

"Have fun, Corrine. And by the way it gets better." Waving her hand like a princess, she walks away.

Bracing myself for the migraine to return, I silently say, "I hope so."


	3. Woe betide the fool in love

_Dominic's perspective. This will happen occasionally._

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><p>I can't stop thinking of her. Sparkling green eyes, large and wide; pouty peach lips; pale China doll complexion; and the raucous tangle of copper curls barely contained in a hair tie. She's the very image of a romantic pre-Raphaelite girl all she's missing are the blooming flowers in her hair. I want to see her again but I don't know what to say or what to do. Should I ask her out? No, she probably remembers Sasha and the little incident. Grace did tell me she put up with the crowd today in Strata and she'll be working in the shop from now on. So that gives me time and dear lord… I've become a stalker. Okay, relax there is no way a girl can do so much damage to me… is there? I wish I could have seen her today in Strata but Felicity kept calling to ask about Sasha and I was afraid that Felicity would have been hanging around Strata. Why do I have to date such annoying girls?<p>

"Dominic?" I lift my head up to see Eunice, my maid, gives me a concerned look as she sets a tray of tea down. She's pouring a cup with such precision that not a drop spills. "You've been looking distracted. Here have this jasmine tea it should help."

"Eunice, what would I do without you?"

She hands me a cup of the steaming, fragrant tea. Humorlessly, Eunice says, "You would probably need a good shave, clean clothes, new shoes, more underwear, and socks that need darning. You want me to continue?"

Chuckling at her serious demeanor, I shake my head and watch Eunice with her dull, mousy hair flopping in front of her face while she aggressively beats the dust out of a pillow with another. Eunice is the type of girl who can make a soufflé rise perfectly while beating the hell out of a poor house robber (yes, this has happened once). I've known Eunice since we were kids and she's like my sister albeit a strong and no-nonsense sister with a penchant for cleaning.

"Eunice, if you met someone you can't stop thinking about what would you do?" I figure I could use a girl's advice and Eunice counts, I guess. Her heads snaps up and looks at me suspiciously—cocking her head to the side and squinting through her coke bottle glasses which makes it hard not to laugh. Although, I know laughing would make Eunice furious and she would probably storm out.

"If I met someone I fell in love with, I would tell him the instant I saw him my feelings and tell him to take it or leave it. Or take him on a nice date." Eunice says certainly while punching the pillow, with such force that it starts to flatten, after the every word she says.

Option one is a definite no but two sounds reasonable since I already thought of it. "Thank you, Eunice." I give her a big hug but she squirms uncomfortably in my embrace so I let her go. Before, I leave the room I ask, "Eunice have you seen my address book? I'm supposed to go to a party tonight."

Without a backwards glance, her matter-of-fact voice replies, "On your bed stand underneath your watch and by your newly pressed shirt."

"Thank you, my angel."

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><p>In the cushy leather seat of the driver's seat, my butler and old friend, Godfrey Smyth says in his trademark gravely voice marked by an English accent. "Mr. Dominic, I must applaud your effort to socialize ever since the young Miss de Bonne left you. And by Jove, I'm sure you will find another lovely gel to court."<p>

"Yes, I'm sure." Still thinking of the pre-Raphaelite and her charming face, I can only reply distractedly.

"Have you considered the sister of Miss Flynn, the one she keeps pushing on you?"

Grimly, I remember. Myra Flynn was a good friend of mine in the interior design world but she was awfully pushy with me meeting her sister. But she decorated Strata for a fraction of the price which means I should repay her the favor. All I know about this sister is that she is twenty-four, my age, her parents adopted Myra, and that she left law school after a year. She's sounds like a bowl of fun. It doesn't matter though, I know that I'll still be thinking of that girl: how her button nose scrunches adorably and how her eyes sparkled when she said thank you. If I could jar the happiness that her glow gave off, I would be the richest man in the world.

"Mr. Dominic, you have arrived to your destination. Have fun, sir."

For a moment, I catch the door and tell the man who's been like a father to me, "Thank you, Godfrey. I'll take a cab home and you can have a break. Take a bath, read a book, watch a movie, or just get some long needed sleep. By the way, let Eunice have one too. She can be so uptight that relaxation might help unwind her."

"Will do sir."

As the car pulls away from the curb, fat droplets splattering all over it, I feel weary and sick of the world that is locked up in a penthouse. Sasha would have enjoyed this but I could never be that dopey-faced trophy on a magazine. Sometimes I wish I could switch off these types of things with an off button. Or at least have a mute button. It's too late to ditch and the increasing pattering of the rain encourages me to enter the warm shelter. Sighing resignedly, I screw up all of my courage and prepare to face chaotic maelstrom of utter madness.


	4. Awkwardness is natural to the ignorant

"You made it." Myra smiles beatifically a la a pageant girl. She gives me a wooden hug and I can see that the caterers are setting up everything. Myra is not open to PDA even if there are only ten other people around us.

"Where's Jack?" Surveying the large living room, my sister's fiancée is nowhere to be found.

Myra bats at an invisible fly in indifferent annoyance. "He'll be here later. Where's my dress?"

"I'm almost done. I just need to fix a small rip in the back. It'll take a minute." My footsteps make a heavy thudding sound with each step I take in the hollow hall. Suddenly, I can hear thundering steps behind me and I can only guess who it is. A large body hurls itself at me and I giggle as I try to fight off Myra's Great Dane, Minnie. "Minnie, get off me you big lug! Hey!"

After a couple minutes of a good licking (me) and belly rubbing (her), I enter my room and shrug off my coat onto my bed. Next to my desk, on my dummy is the dress I'm making for my sister. It has a deep v-neckline which ends at the waist while three-quarter length sleeves are meant to accentuate my sister's long arms. All of the dress is made in a vibrant cherry satin and the skirt should just graze her knees. The only jarring detail of the dress is a small rip Minnie made when she thought that the dress would be a lovely chew toy it should be fair to say that I gave a squirt of bitter spray on the dress and Minnie. She learned.

"Hey, sis, you done?" Myra taps on the door and enters my room. She's carrying two flutes of champagne and hands me one.

Gulping down the bubbly liquid, I nod. "Yeah, why don't you try it on along with those beige Louboutin pumps?"

"And the diamond pendant?"

"You read my mind."

"Thanks, Corrine. By the way, the guy I was talking about, you know the one who recently broke up with his girlfriend? He's coming over and I was hoping you could cheer him up for me. He's a good friend although you may not know him that well. He's famous and recognizable though."

"Is this another poor boy you keep trying to set me up with?" Myra throws me an ambivalent smile and leaves me all by myself. Oh well, just another innocent fool to play with.

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><p>"Darling, you look wonderful as always." Suffocating me in some flowery perfume that smells like a bunch of daisies vomited on a pile of dead roses, Rococo smothers me in a hug and proceeds to spin me around while she inspects my handmade dress. "I love the way your tulle skirt whirls like the wind and the chiffon! But most of all that true blue hue befits your green eyes so well! Now, tell me, darling, how are you? Oh wait, I see Didi! I must go and say hello."<p>

Wearily, I watch Rococo attack Didi Johnson with an overbearing hug. The migraine like I predicted is back, but a few Advils put it to a dull headache. Seeing Myra having fun makes me reluctant to leave the party but I feel like I'm dying. My sister is one of the most taciturn people I know but she morphs into this social butterfly when she's in a party. Her fiancé, Jack Morris, has his arm around her and looks admiringly at Myra while she laughs at a joke. Hard to believe my sister would be attracted to a dope like Morris- I mean he's a good looking but a total horse-loving nerd. If he had a choice between saving Myra or a horse, he would actually have to think about it. Luckily that hasn't happened because if it did I would probably be standing over Myra's grave enjoying a sandwich made of horse meat while sitting on Morris's corpse.

"Corrine?" Myra gently takes a hold of my arm startling me. "I have someone I want you to meet. He's a good friend of mine and you might recognize him from the news and magazines."

"Hi, nice to meet you." I offer my hand to the oncoming figure until I see his face. My face freezes and I quell the urge to squeal.

"It's you!" Dominic Strata and I say stunned. What on Earth is my boss doing here?

Myra looks confused and asks, "Do you two know each other?"

"Myra, this is the guy who offered me the job. Weren't you listening? I said I was going to work at Strata." My face is red with embarrassment and my voice is shaking nervously. At the moment, I could strangle the life out of Myra and I want to. I mean here is my boss, somebody important in the fashion world, and here I am wearing a ratty dress I put together at the last moment. I could die.

"It's a pleasure to see you again, Miss Flynn." Dominic smiles eagerly, accepting my hand shake.

"The pleasure is all mine." I say through my teeth while thinking of ways to kill Myra.

"Well, I'll be leaving you two cute singletons alone, okay?" The tone in Myra's voice is like that of an overbearing, perky kindergartener teacher's.

"I'm sorry. I did tell my sister about you but she doesn't listen sometimes." Apologetically, I smile, letting the corners of my mouth to stretch out by two centimeters. Yeah, I feel that tense. Nightmarishly, the hammer in my head pounds again and my hands instinctively touch my forehead. "Ow."

"Are you okay? Here sit down." Putting his hands around my shoulders, Dominic helps me take a seat on Myra's stiff modern couch. Searching his pockets, he says, "I think I have an Advil somewhere in my jacket. Just wait a moment. Aha!"

Gulping down the tiny pill and following with champagne seems to amuse Dominic because he's chuckling to himself. "Thank you, but may I ask what is so funny? This is how I normally do it."

"I was just thinking that this is probably how the rich get rid of headaches. A glass of champagne and Advil."

Dryly, I remark, "Yep, no over-the-counter shit. The rich really go all out; just look at their pets."

Immediately, I remember who I am talking to and I cover my stupid mouth. Being part Irish means that my face reddens easily which is what was happening to me at that moment. Dominic starts to laugh hysterically, with abandon, clutching his sides. His dimples take form when his lips spread into a smile and his British accent sticks like a sore thumb when he's laughing. I have to admit it's really cute.

But I never mix business with pleasure and nobody will be the exception. Not even the cute British boy with strictly Asian features. Although, even if he wasn't my boss I still wouldn't date him because there's something dangerous about him I can see it in his eyes. There's a certain edge to his steely green eyes. For weird reason, I think I'm intimidated by him.

"Is that a habit of yours? Cursing in front of your boss?" His smile still remains on face but at least he's done laughing.

"Pardon me you probably never have been set up with such a rude girl. If you weren't my boss I'd be cursing like a sailor at this point."

"Trust me the girls I've dated had manners but no humanity in their souls."

"Right, they sound like beasts especially that Sasha Bon Bon girl." Taking a bit of lox on a toasted mini bagel, I choke up again. Shit, I've got to stop being so rude.

Dominic laughs again, "Is that what you call her?"

"Actually, in my diary I refer to her as Sasha Big Mouth."

"Sasha Big Mouth, that's good. My friend, Joseph, referred to her as Sasha Big Ass." Just when I thought that I wouldn't choke anymore, I do when he mentions his friend's nickname for the witch.

"It's a shame though, that coat was beautiful." Sorrowfully, I reminisce over the glamorous coat and the giant mess I made on it. "By the way, I thought witches were supposed to melt when in contact with fluids."

This sets Dominic off and he tells me in wheezy breaths, "She kind of did. Her makeup was sliding off her face by the time she left. She looked absolutely ghastly and particularly witchy."

"Oh excuse me, I have a call." I hold up a finger as I inspect the caller id. "Sorry, I have to take this."

Turning my back to him, I cover one ear with the phone and the other with my free hand to block out the noise. "Hey Joe. What's up?"

"Sounds like you're busy. Party or TV?"

"Party, listen is this important? Can I call you later?"

"It'll be quick. Do you want to meet up for lunch tomorrow? At twelve-thirty?"

"Sure," I say much too eagerly, "Do you have a specific place in mind?"

"Is it okay if we meet up at Times Square?"

"Sounds great, I'll talk to you later. Bye Joe."

"Hmm, a party? Have fun, little wallflower."

I hang up and Dominic is observing at me curiously. Putting my phone away in a secret pocket, I shoot him an equally curious stare.

"Were you eavesdropping?"

"I guess you can call it that," Cautiously he asks, "Does this Joe happen to be Joseph Cain?"

My jaw drops, "Yes! How did you know?"

"Joseph was the friend I mentioned before."

"Yeah, Joe's a friend of mine from my college days. What a coincidence! How do you know him?"

"Through a mutual friend. Listen, there's something you need to know about Joseph…"

"What?"

"Well… he's… just be careful around him. He can be a charmer."

"What do you mean?"

"Just don't trust your feelings around him. For your own sake." Right now, his tone pisses me off and picks at my nerve. He's talking to me like I'm mentally challenged.

Angrily, I stand up and make eye contact, "For your information, I am an adult. I don't need a parent or a baby sitter to tell me how to live my life. And for a friend, you don't give him much support. It really is rude to talk like this to an employee, which is a shame because you seemed professional. Good night!"

Huh, who knew he could be so imposing. "For your own sake." Bullshit. I can take care of myself; I have been for several years already. Ugh, that presumptuous jerk. Where does he come off from his high horse? I stumble into my room to find a couple making out on my bed and tell them gruffly to get out. Tripping on my own two feet, I make my way to my bed and shut my eyes tightly. Stupid boss! Maybe a good night's sleep will relax me. Maybe instead of counting sheep I can count stupid Dominic's face. Jerk.


	5. Does it hurt to be stabbed in the back?

Wurgh. What bastard thinks it's funny to pound my head in with a mallet? Propping my back against the wall, I rub my forehead in an effort to remember what happened the night before. The only thing I can recall is me scolding someone and stumbling off drunk. _Instead of counting sheep I should count… _Count what? Furiously I rub my head like that will improve my thought process. _Instead of counting sheep I should count Dominic's stupid face!_ Say what? That doesn't even make sense. How drunk was I? Shit bugger bugging shit. At least I don't see him at work that much. Or maybe he'll have such a raging hangover that he just stays in bed all day. And if I'm lucky maybe forever.

Groggily, my feet shake a bit as I stand up and the ground swirls before my very eyes. This is going to suck apples. Lifting up my vintage Mickey Mouse alarm clock, I can see it's eight 'o clock which is my usual wake up time. On my white board are bright red scribbles I must have made the night before. The first one says, "Create mutant cats to take over McDonald's," which is promptly wiped off. However, the second says, "Meet Joe at twelve Times Square," which I dutifully memorize. On my way to the bathroom, whining my heart out from the mind numbing pain and dry mouth feeling, I catch Myra fast asleep on the couch in our spotless living room. She must have stayed up to help with the cleaning. Myra may be the perfect woman but one thing she hates about herself is her snoring which she passes off as the breeze blowing by. Like a party of bulldozers racing with trucks, Myra snores on in her deep sleep. Propping a decorative pillow, which confuses me because a pillow is a pillow, against her delicate head, I stand back to observe her sleeping in the most non-stalkerish way possible. She sleeps like a baby and looks even more angelic than one and content with this image I drag myself into the shower and try to form some way to apologize to my boss.

"You're awake." I say, while toweling off my messy hair, at the sight of Myra glaring at boxes of cereal. Her daily ritual always starts out as: to eat rice krispies or not to eat rice krispies?

"Got a hangover like you wouldn't wish on your enemies." She grumbles.

Stealing the box of Cheerios, dumping them in a bowl, and drowning them in milk are all done in a matter of seconds. Hungrily, I gulp down the cereal to Myra's disgust. "Of course, what I want to see first thing in the morning is a wolf feasting. Actually do you actually chew your food?"

Defiantly, I open my mouth and stick out my tongue, the freshly chewed up bits dangle precariously off it. She lets out a yelp of outrage and smacks my arm in retaliation. A moment of cold staring occurs then we both laugh. This is also part of the ritual.

"Is that what you're wearing today for work?" Myra casts a skeptical glance at my outfit. Today, I decided on a one-shoulder knit top for the winter, high waisted cherry-printed skirt that covers over opaque black tights, and beige oxfords with silver sequined laces. This may seem outrageous to most mild mannered people but New Yorkers aren't exactly known for their austerity. Annoyed, I point out that she's still wearing clothes from last night with slight changes though: one of the sleeves on my handmade dress is hanging by a thread while one of Myra's beige heels is missing and replaced with a leopard print heel. Myra has just noticed and embarrassed, she chooses to eat silently.

Tying my hair into a neat top knot, I pick up my worn gray leather hobo bag and slip into a brown coat. Waving good bye, my shoes create a symphony of tapping sounds as they delicately make their way down the icy streets. Something that I love about New York is that no matter how grimy or rat-invested it appears to be, there is still a modern beauty underneath it all. Not entirely beautiful but endearing in appearance.

"Hi, Renee. How are you?" Renee Strom is the first to be in the shop and I try to be friendly despite the hangover cracking my head open only to receive a bored nod. She might be the most unfriendly person I know but she has a killer sense of fashion. Chin length raven black hair is curled immaculately and swept over her tanned face, bringing a gloss to her pale green irises. A studded black leather motorcycle jacket drapes over her thin shoulders and is paired with a pair of acid stained Alexander McQueen skinny jeans. Acne suede ankle boots boost her tiny body up a couple of inches and studded bangles clank sharply against her thin wrists. Her sense of fashion is so far on edge it doesn't know it's in freefall.

We spend the first couple of minutes awkwardly as she taps her fingers on the cashier counter meanwhile I pace restlessly, focusing on the tinkling sounds my footsteps make. The store is always quiet during the morning or so I've heard from Grace and I find myself growing impatient. Renee is boring and she just sits there, reading her magazine, like an iceberg, frigid and cold. I try talking to her but she frostily rebuffs me, telling me that we have nothing to discuss that would be interesting. Thirty minutes pass by which I occupy by playing scrap basketball and riding the racks of clothing down the smooth marble floors.

"Is there anything to do in this wasteland?" Completely devoid of energy, I ask to no one in particular despite Renee's dour presence. She throws me a dirty look, like I'm a dirty mongrel that's foaming at the mouth.

"Of course someone of your class would think Strata is a wasteland. There's plenty to do here but if you aren't smart enough to figure it out then that's your problem. Though I'm sure there's a Dazies store down the block somewhere. You know, where your kind belongs." She laughs in her snooty nasal tone and turns back to her reading.

When she turns around I stick out my tongue at her and push up my nose with my middle finger. Under my breath I crankily murmur, "And I'm sure there's a powerful stool softener to help with your constipation."

Unfortunately, I've dealt with girls like Renee before, from college to waitressing, and one thing I know is that girls like that can't tolerate girls like me, who are socially awkward and weird. Renee is just as much of a pedigree bitch as I am a circus cretin. However, the one thing that stops me from taking the sticks out of those pedigree bitches' butts by myself is the buffer, in this case Grace. The buffer is the one who smoothes things out and makes it tolerable to breathe the same air as those stuffy, inbred poodles. But, Grace isn't here at the moment and the urge to joke about what kennel Renee frequents strengthens.

After an hour of biting my tongue, Grace comes in looking fresh and exuberant. She pins on her name tag and polishes the part reading "Manager" with extra vigor. Glowing, Grace straightens her navy blazer over her sky blue Lucky Brand skinny jeans. Her pomegranate colored lips is spread in her trademark smile—straight white teeth contrasting the pink of her lips. Sweetly, Grace hums a familiar tune with gusto and she twirls around like an animated princess. The only thing missing is the tiara.

"Had a good night?"

"The best. I just love my fiancée so much and his parents, too. Oh, I can barely wait for my wedding. Just eight more months." She squeals. Grace is so adorable; there's a certain sparkle in her eyes that tells me she feels genuinely happy. I wonder who would be lucky to land such a caring girl anyway. Meh, I'll meet the prince charming soon enough.

"How nice! My sister's getting married next year, too. Where are you planning on having your wedding?"

"At the Hotel Royale. Mommy says that they have an opening in August which is absolutely perfect. What?" Grace noticed my mouth gaped open.

"My sister has been on that waiting list for months. And you just got it like that..." My voice breaks off as I realize how rude I'm being.

Embarrassed, Grace blushed deeply and murmured, "When your mom is Madeline Wheeler, things are easier. Not that I always want that."

"Wait, your mom is Madeline Wheeler?" To say I did a double take is a great misunderstanding. Brushing away my errant hair furiously out of my face, I pop up in front of Grace's face. "As in Madeline Wheeler, the chief editor of _Nuances_?"

"Yeah, didn't I tell you this?"

"No, you said your mom was the fashion editor."

"Is there a difference?" She asked genuinely confused.

Renee snorted, "Of course there is. Your mom is like God and Satan's insane fashion love child." (On a side note: did she really just say that?)

Grace and I shared a knowing glance before cracking up in Renee's face. Giggling hysterically, Grace replied, "My mom does have that effect. You should have seen how scared her hairdresser was when he forgot to dye one gray hair. The first time she met Joe, she practically gave him a mental kick in the nuts."

Ok, these coincidences seem to be really close and it's starting to freak me out. The laughter building up in me bubbled down quickly and I asked hesitantly, "Your fiancé's name is Joe?"

Then, Grace eagerly tells me the words I dreaded to hear, "Yep, Joseph Cain. Do you know him?"

I know him alright.


	6. A Face Is Always Masked

I'm reeling in shock. This is typical. Of course, I can't ever be happy. Not when I have my first kiss with slimy Scott Jones or when I get my braces taken off a week late to find out that I need a root canal. It's not enough that I'm the blackest black sheep in the history of black sheep but I can't even have a guy who's single and not creepy. Whoopee, I'm a major dumb ass. Not that it would be Grace's fault. I mean she has no idea. I had no idea. Then again I assumed … again. I have to stop that. My mind is empty and frazzled. The only thought in my head is I have to stop seeing Joe. Okay that was presumptuous of me but I don't trust myself around him.

"Hello? Is there anyone in the store?" Bold and strong, a voice calls out. Ticking clicks, like a clicking time bomb, alert all of us that someone has finally arrived. A woman brushes her reddish brown hair nonchalantly and speaks, demandingly, "Hi, I'm Chantal and I'd like to buy a dress… and I'm in a hurry. So can someone help me or are all of you just going to sit there with your mouths hanging open like a dead fish?"

After the initial shock over having a customer so early, Grace nudges me with her elbow and remarks professionally, "Corrine can help you and if you have any problems then you can call me, I'm Grace the manager."

Hesitantly, I walk towards the dress section following Chantal, who seems to already know this store inside out and not in need of any actual help, and I begin rifling through the racks, "Do you have anything in mind? Are you going to a certain event like a date or a party?"

"Well, I am throwing a party tonight, which will be the best anyone has seen ever. You know what I mean? Everyone's going to be dressed to the nines so I have to outshine at least ninety people. Right? I'm the host after all and I have to shine. Although, it's not that hard for me, I mean I'm the best after all. Did you know Brittany Haverford is going to come? Eck, I hate that Brittany, she's so snooty and her butt is bigger than a hippo and a half. Her teeth are huge and her face looks like a horse. She's also the type to give up her treats easily. Get me? Really, I have no idea who invited her but I'm not going to let that gremlin bother me. But, honestly, I hate her and her bitchy friend, Sasha de Bon. Sasha just as evil and loose as Brittany except she's beautiful which is a shame. Did you know Sasha just dumped her boyfriend, Dominic Strata? Just straight up dumped Dominic into the trash like he was a moldy sandwich. Poor Dominic, he's such a sweetie."

At the mention of Dominic and Sasha, I clear my mind which I cluttered up with meaningless babble in order to tune out Chantal's presumptuous speech and thoughts of Joe. I can tell right off, Chantal isn't a pedigree like Renee; in fact she's kind of amusing, but incredibly self-centered. Also, she doesn't know that she suffers from a serious case of "word diarrhea." This girl is an information dump; every time she opens her mouth thoughtless garbage pours out. However, sometimes in the wretched dump would be little nuggets of information. Not that I'm interested in Dominic, no that would be stupid and weird but my mind is nagging me to question Chantal and her perpetually chattering mouth. After all it isn't everyday you get to take a bite of juicy gossip about your boss. Besides I'm sick of listening to her asking me rhetorical questions every other sentence. Biting my tongue for several minutes only strengthens my nagging. Finally, I give in, "Wait, Sasha broke up with Dominic? Not the other way around?"

"Yeah, I heard that Sasha threw a temper tantrum when Dominic refused to pose with her for a People's magazine cover. Apparently, Sasha has been using Dominic and freaked out when he said no. It's like he's a dog that's been told to roll over but throws up on her legs instead. " Chantal stifles a giggle, "Rumor has it that she got a girl fired when they broke up because the girl spilled coffee on her on accident. I heard it got all over her face and her makeup melted like the wicked witch from The Wizard of Oz. I would have loved to see that and meet that girl. You know, so I could give her a medal."

"Me, too. Here." Pulling a golden fitted Alvarado dress with spaghetti straps from the racks, I hold it up against her. "What about this? The gold highlights your tan and the straps will great against your round shoulders."

Happily, she clapped her hands with adoration and pride. But then her face falters. "I love it! But I'm a size—"

"Four. I know." Reluctantly, I explain, "I can tell dress sizes and stuff like that."

She takes the dress excitedly, "Wow, that's so cool. Can you tell me the size of my shoes?"

"Your left foot is a size six and your right is a size five-and-half. Do you need anything else?" I say curtly though she fails to notice. Let me explain, this ability is something I despise—it's mostly a useless parlor trick that kids ridicule me for. In grade school, kids used to call me "Foot Locker" and demand that I do my "trick" for their friends like I'm a robot. It made me insecure when kids yelled at me if I got one measurement off and the fact that this ability singled me out from the rest of the kids. Only my grandmother Ann and Dan, my older brother, and Myra helped me through grade school and gave me confidence.

"I just need shoes to match. You don't mind do you?" Chantal says this like it matters, which softens my hardened attitude. After ten minutes spent finding appropriate shoes, Chantal steps out right at the moment Grace stops by. Critically, Grace's eyes scrutinize the outfit without batting an eye and she takes a moment to think.

Then, she opens her mouth, "It's great! You did great for a beginner, Corrine! What do you think Chantal?"

"I love it. Corrine did a great job!" Chantal returns to her dressing room to change and Grace faces me sincerely proud.

"I think you guys are ready to ring it up. I had faith you would do well, Corrine. In fact, you did a better job than Renee and me when we first came here. The first time I was a stylist, I suggested a floral sleeveless dress for a girl that doesn't shave. For her first time, Renee asked if the woman was searching for a Lane Bryant or a maternity store. From then on, we had to hire a security guard. I think you should have a permanent stylist position, it pays better. I know that you're just beginning but I think you have a good eye and ability. I'll call Dominic about it later."

"Thanks Grace. People normally don't say that to me. It's mostly, 'you, stooge, how do you set a pool on fire?' or,' I don't understand how a five year old can do that to a bathroom if he's supervised by an adult.'" Half serious, my tone is wry as I relax with Grace. The store has a couple of customers who all wanted to browse for themselves which means that Grace and I are free while Renee mans the register.

"Thanks Corrine. Without you I wouldn't have even noticed that dress. I'm going to make everyone so jealous and fat!" Chantal squeals and hugs me and I can only pat her back awkwardly and smile. Whipping out a crisp beige envelope, she hands it to me with flair, "Here's an invitation for my party. I hope you can make it even on short notice. Bye!"

"Okay…" Hmm, a party? Should I or shouldn't I? I mean I don't have many friends in New York besides Ben and Jerry so I spend most of my free time sewing and watching chick flicks with Minnie. And I do have this dress I've been meaning to wear since I made it but again a lonely spinster has more of a social life than I do. So party it is then and maybe I can drag Myra along. No doubt that her social life has bloomed but her best friends are still Ben and Jerry too.

It is twelve 'o clock and my phone alarm trills mockingly, daring me to hurl it against the statue of William Shakespeare in Central Park. Snow blankets the park like a downy comforter and I wish that I could nestle myself into the soft looking snow. Dusting the snow off of a bench carefully, I set my purse down beside me and rifle through it to pull out my freshly made hot dog. While eating the hot dog grumpily, a couple passes by laughing wholeheartedly with each other, annoying me enough to kick snow at them. Jesus, it's not even Valentines Day and couples are going at it like it's the Animal Planet and they're depraved lions. They stare at me weirdly but choose to ignore me since I already look pitiful by myself and my lukewarm hot dog. Observing the withered trees, a man in a fur coat that reminds me of a pimp is being attacked by a large stray dog. He's practically screaming for help and I'm tempted to watch and see if the dog will actually do all those things the man's screaming. However, all entertaining ergo good things must come to an end as my conscience kicks my butt into helping the man. Confidently, I break off a piece of my hot dog and wave it in front of the dog's face which lights up brighter than a fire cracker. Aw, I want to hug this guy and take him home. Not the old guy but the cute dog. Quickly, I whip the piece of food across the empty field and instantly the dog springs into action, leaving me and the man in the fancy coat to watch the adorable creature in awe.

"Thank you, miss. For a moment, I thought that the bear was going to kill me." The man accepts the handkerchief I hand him and he attempts to return it but I decline due to the amount of dog slobber it is soaked in. He offers his hand which I shake reluctantly.

"Actually, pardon my impudence, but that was a large dog. A hungry one."

He smiles despite his embarrassment, "So it was. How embarrassing of me to have thought so. Thank you for any matter. May I ask your name so I may thank you properly?"

"It's Cori Flynn but my friends call me Corrine."

After I mention my name, the old pimp I mean man's face lights up like the dog's face did and he says hurriedly, "Well, my many thanks goes to you Miss Flynn. Now, I must bid you a kind farewell."

Like the dog, the old man in the fur coat speeds off with such vigor that makes me believe another dog is chasing him. Amazingly though, the elderly man runs with such precision and speed that it is hard for me to believe that a dog could have had him screaming like a girl. I guess that the old, cheesy saying rings true considering the odd events today, never judge a book by its cover.


	7. It Takes More Than Neosporin to Heal

Crap. Racing against time, I pull out a wet wipe from a tub on my vanity. Shoot, the mascara stain is only being rubbed in the dress, creating a dark brown stain on the silky white maxi dress I made. Oh well, I can tell them it's a fashion statement or test them psychologically with a Rorschach test. Flicking on another coat of brown mascara, I observe my appearance. I look decent. I guess I'm pretty enough to be a model right now with my smoky eyes and ripe grapefruit pink pout. Daintily, I poke at my intricately curled up do which reminds me of a loose ponytail but wild curls sprout out of the end like those tubes that blow out curled ribbons. Is there anything Myra can't do?

"Wow! You're gorgeous." Taking a step back, Myra observes me intently while playing with my curls.

Grinning, I remark, "Actually, I'm hungry. But thanks. You look great too."

Patting her braided chignon, Myra smiles like a beauty pageant queen with her white teeth peeking out from her garnet red lips. Her pale champagne dress skirts drops to her skinny ankles with a bow at the waist to cinch it in while the v-neckline is encrusted with pearls. Encased in a strappy gold stilettos, her toes are manicured the same red as her lips and Myra ends up looking like a princess with ten palaces and a pumpkin coach smothered in diamonds.

Turns out that she was prepared the whole time because Jack had been invited to the party too, in fact she had asked me if I wanted to come along but I wasn't listening at all. Actually, I might have been intentionally ignoring her but I was playing with Minnie who was chewing on my Twit Light book, which should only be used for chewing and not for reading.

Glancing to my right, I'm stunned to see myself in the full length mirror. I no longer see the skinny, knobby kneed nerd with braces that haunts me but a woman with smoldering emerald eyes and a graceful stance. It also helps that I actually like this dress. It's a maxi dress with and empire waist and cap sleeves. The sleeves are black silk and the bodice is made of gold sequins with a sweet heart neckline. Instead of seeming like a little girl playing dress up, I finally look like a full grown lady. This is odd and startling but also a relief. Everyone used to think Myra was the older sister, not because she looked older but she seemed more mature.

A couple of buzzes break me away from staring at myself and Myra picks up her matching clutch. "That's Jack. He's so impatient."

As if he heard her, Jack rings the doorbell furiously. Irritated, Myra stomps over to the front door to scold Jack. I'm glad that he's ringing the bell loudly because my stomach is growling. Myra says to eat when I get there or I'll look bloated but all I ate today was half of a cold hot dog. Grabbing my favorite teddy bear shaped clutch, I can see it's big enough to hold a roll and I stuff on into it before Myra's hawk-like vision. I mean what can happen right?

I never realized how rich people could be. I thought Myra and her modern penthouse was it but turns out one can never have too many Rolls Royces or too much caviar. After being escorted by beautiful people into a gigantic ballroom, I begin to understand how an ant feels. It feels claustrophobic and itchy. Despite wanting to run out of the room screaming, I will admit that the whole affair is as decked out as I expected. There are waiters in crisp tuxedos handing out little treats with unpronounceable names and the guests are all wearing something with an Italian name and speaking in weird accents. The queen of this whole soiree, Chantal is sitting on a golden throne, looking down at her guests as she intended. What's more gorgeous than the ambiance is the eight feet long table filled with all kinds of refreshments: white frosted cakes, strawberry shortcakes, caramel-and-bacon cupcakes, wine, champagne, fruit punch, finger sandwiches, sushi, ten different kinds of cheese and meat and last but definitely not least is a five tiered black forest cherry cake. To me, the food is more interesting than the people and at the moment that's where I'm at, stuffing as much food in my cheeks as they can handle.

"Having fun Cori?" The voice sounds familiar and due to a lack of familiarity I feel from this place, I pull my attention from the precious delicacies away.

"Joe." Before I can say or do anything more, something lodges itself in my throat. Choking on cake, I stumble back. Suddenly, a pair of strong arms wraps around my waist and begins to pound against my abdomen. After a couple thrusts, the lump of cake pops out of my mouth and I pick up the remains with a napkin. Sitting in an empty hallway on the spiraling staircase, Joe hands me a cup of punch and I sip it carefully. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"Not one of my greater moments."

"Right. Why did you stand me up? I couldn't have said something wrong, could I?"

"Why do you think that?" I mutter passive aggressively. He looks incredibly handsome with his gray fitted Armani suit with a skinny blue tie. I hate him.

"I tried to call you but you didn't pick up your phone. Listen, I really like you and I want to start off on a good foot with you. You left too quickly for us to resolve anything last time." When he mentions this, both our faces redden.

"I had to leave. Not because of you. I spent three years waiting for you."

"Look, I have to tell you that during the time you left me, I was nothing and I realize that my feelings for you are deeper than I thought." His face is closer to mine, close enough to feel his breath. Gently, his lips press against mine, his hand cupping my cheek. The moment that I had been anticipating for years had finally come and I didn't want it. It's not right; Grace doesn't deserve this. My throat tightens and I choke up with tears. A sinking weight tethered to my chest drags me down.

I pull away as fat drops of salty tears drip off my cheeks. Joe's expression is taken aback and he asks, "Was that not what you wanted?"

"How can you do that?"

"Do what?"

My sight is blurred with tears and my hand flies in a flash, making a sharp smacking sound. Stumbling onto the floor, Joe's mouth drops open as I shriek, "I know! I know about Grace! I know that what we did right now was wrong! Do I matter to you? Do you know how long I've waited for this moment? How many times I cried every time you saw through me? How many times I prayed to anyone with the hopes that one day you could take off those ridiculous glasses and just see me and only me?" My voice drops to a throaty whisper, "God knows, I loved you. How can you be so cruel?"

Whirling around in a flurry of white silk, I make my way through the forlorn mansion and I begin to see how cold it can be without a veritable mosh pit. At the end of a hall, I reach a glass room. It literally is a glass room: the walls are see-through as is the ceiling. The sight of bright, pure snow falling mixed with the sight of twinkling stars is stunning. The light emanating from the full moon reflects off of the still waters of the kidney-shaped pool. White frost webs its way across the glass walls and snowflakes stick onto the glass ceiling. It's a winter wonderland complete with the lonesome ice queen.

Slipping off my beige kitten heels, I peel off my stockings and dip my feet into the warm pool water. Now that I'm alone, I can cry for real. Why must I feel like this? My voice is hoarse as I open my mouth to bawl. Curling up, I rest my head on my knees to support my heaving chest. Tears leak with more vigor than ever and my crying is thick with emotion. Brown spots bloom on my dress where my tears fell and for once I don't care how stupid I look. The room is large just like the rest of this horrible place and my sobs echo throughout it. I love him. So much. Lying down on the cold floor, I bury my face against the cold tile with the only source of warmth being my bitter tears. I can hear my sobs becoming more breathy and more rapid. I love him but I know that I'll hurt so many people if I act selfishly. Pathetically, I gasp for air, my hands squeezing against my chest in an effort to take the pressure off it. Finally, my weep fest ends and I wipe my face with a trembling hand, feeling every slimy bit of snot and tears that had flowed freely. No longer caring, I wipe my slimy hand against my dress. I can't stand this place, I thought that I would have fun but I really can't. Rising up on shaking legs, I pick up my stocking and slip on my heels. Walking towards the door, a bright green handkerchief hung over a chair catches my eye. It's the handkerchief that I gave to the old man earlier. Thankfully, I pick it up and smudge it against my eyelids and cheeks. It's soft and warm, smelling of freshly cut grass. It's comforting. Lately, I could use some comfort.


	8. Payback's a Dog

_A quick chapter from Dominic's POV. Thanks to all that have favorited this story and supported it._

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><p>She was crying. Like a child crying over the loss of her first pet. Her brokenness breaks through the wall of stoic silence with her voice tearfully being muffled by tremulous hands. And all I could do was watch. When her body went limp with hopelessness and sorrow, I could only try to understand what she was going through. Even weeping, she's beautiful like a swan, pale and glorious. My fist tightens around the hand embroidered handkerchief that Godfrey had told me she gave him. Leaning against the wall near the entrance, I listen to her sobbing with abandon, feeling that deep down that she doesn't easily cry. Silently, I walk over to a table nearby and hang the cloth carefully over a chair. As much as it pained me to do, I walked away with a heavy heart.<p>

Taking a deep sip of wine, I can't shake off the unspoken sadness that I could feel from Corrine's tears. Moving listlessly through the mass of chattering guests, the only thing I can hear is the feverish weeping of her dashed hope. My feet are lead, dragging heavily across the floor. I can remember how eager I was to come to this terrible party. Just to see her and her bright smile. Now, I can only remember her face filled with pain. Then, I remember why she's crying in the first place. That bastard Joe did something to her. I saw how much hope and love he brought to Corrine with just one phone call. He always has to screw up with girls, doesn't he? My brows furrow in disgust as I spot him, one arm around Grace's waist, his face carelessly happy.

"Hey Dom, what's up?" He flashes me his inherently charming smile that brings girls to their knees. That miserable dog. He's not even acting like anything's wrong. "Dom, are you alright?"

"I will be after I do this." Before he can say a thing, my clenched fist flies straight into his nose, blood spurting from it immediately, and I walk away. The guests around him all crowd around him in surprise and gape at the amount of blood flowing on his face. Reaching the refreshment table, I search for a napkin through the forest of treats. Blood rushes to my head and my heart pumps crazily, taking life of its own. I never felt so alive. I also realize that I've never done that for a girl before. Quivering from adrenaline, I rifle through the food with my clean hand only to come up empty.

"Here. You need it more than I do." Sniffling, Corrine takes my hand and closes it over the handkerchief I left with her. As I wipe my hand clean, she nibbles on a cupcake with cream cheese frosting. A bit of the creamy frosting dots her upper lip but she fails to notice as she is gazing intently at me. She doesn't flash me her lovely smile but instead whispers, "Thank you."

"There's nothing to thank me for. I only wish I could have done more." I offer back her handkerchief but she shakes her head firmly.

"Think of it as a token of my gratitude. You shouldn't have done that. What will your friends think, Rocky?" Her pink lips form a lopsided smile with an inkling of kindness. There are traces of brown mascara and smudges of eyeshadow staining her face but I can't help notice how fiercely her green eyes burn. She looks braver, Amazonian.

Pocketing her handkerchief, I return the crooked smile and say with a tinge of arrogance, "As you Americans say colloquially, screw them."


	9. Always Catch Flies with Honey

"Come on, say it."

Dominic blushed, "Do I have too?"

"If you want your hand intact." Playfully, I twist Dominic's pinky, causing him to wince.

"Fine, I am a, as you Americans say, wuss." Snatching his finger out of my tight grip, he sucks on it while pouting.

Taking a bite out of the freshly baked funnel cake, I lick my fingers to get rid of the powered sugar. Dominic meanwhile munches on caramel corn, the noisy crunching fighting against the sound of my voice. "Stop calling us 'you Americans,' it makes you sound prudish. Why are you so scared anyway? It's just a Ferris wheel. It's safer than a rollercoaster. There's less of a probability that you will die on a Ferris wheel than on a rollercoaster."

Instantly upon hearing the word "die," Dominic covers his ears with his hands dropping the bag of popped corn. Picking up the bag for him, I begin to sing Tom Jones's song "What's New Pussycat." He starts to laugh, not bothering to dignify himself, which I like. Not that we're dating, but after that whole party fiasco I become less wary of him and we've become friends. If that doesn't convince you, then I'll have to mention that we're here at the carnival with friends. Well, my friends at least.

That whole gala incident is over with and I don't really want to discuss it. Bottom line is that I'm no longer on speaking terms with Joe, Grace still has no idea nor do I plan on telling her and Dominic and I have been spending more time together. I've had to change my phone number twice and throw out ten letters of apology in the past month. The only time I saw Joe in the past month was when he came over to Strata looking like a mess but he managed to smile and pretend that he was just meeting me for the first time. Safe to say, I'm never speaking to that jerk again.

Didi Johnson smiles and takes a bite of her corndog while Olivia Giancarlo hums along with me. Libby Smyth takes a couple of pictures with her Nikon, blinding all of us for a brief moment. Olivia and Libby were friends from college that also had ditched school for a more creative outlet except that their parents understood what they were doing. While Didi was a childhood friend that lost touch until Myra and I went to her hair salon one day. Annoyed, Myra kicks Libby and grabs a hold of the camera, fighting Libby without much work. She quickly erases whatever pictures she deems unattractive, which aren't many, while Libby claws at Myra like a cat. Dominic talks to the only other males here, Jack and Didi's boyfriend Tom, and Olivia puts an arm around my shoulders.

"So, what's the deal with the Brit? Am I going to be able to do my Sherlock Holmes impression around him? Or make fun of the Queen?" Olivia gives me a mischievous grin as I laugh.

"I dare you, Livy." Sighing, I wipe off the rest of the powdered sugar on my coat, letting hot air puff out of my mouth, "I don't know what the deal is. I know he's infatuated with me but that'll pass and he'll have to see the real me. So I'm not making any 'deals' with him at the moment."

"Oh come on, I like the real you and everyone here likes the real you too."

"Corinne, can you ask the escaped mental patient to stop abusing me?" Libby cries out with Myra twisting Libby's arm behind her back.

Scoffing, Myra retorts, "You called me a heifer, what did you expect? A cookie?"

"It's a dog eat dog world my dear Libby. And you are Purina puppy chow." Feigning indifference, I hang back with Dominic. He tries to say something but the caramel corn has gummed up his mouth, a sensation that surprises him. "Having fun?"

Happily, he smiles and nods. We finally reach the towering Ferris wheel, bright and colorful. Instantly, as if struck by lightning, Dominic's already pale face blanches and that happy-go-lucky smile slips off. Myra and Jack, Olivia and Libby, Didi and Tom all pair up and load into the rainbow tinted carriages. People continue to pile on the wheel until there's only one carriage left. I haven't been on a Ferris wheel for a long time and I miss it but the look on Dominic's face is terrified beyond belief. Also, I don't really feel comfortable leaving him by himself, I was the one who asked him to come in the first place.

"You can go, I'll be fine. Honestly." His smile is reassuring but in an artificial way; like taking a child to Chuck E. Cheese and pretending to enjoy it for the child's sake.

"Last chance Miss. It's now or never." The elderly operator held open the door and I felt tempted to go through but I wanted Dominic to experience this utter bliss and liberation from the world below. But I can deal without it for the moment because with him I feel at peace and happy.

Bravely, I take a hold of Dominic's hand, ignoring the caramel stickiness, and I meet Dominic's eyes, which light up despite his confusion. "I'm good sir. Maybe next time."

The bottom lids of Dominic's eyes creased and I could see his true smile shine through, gums exposed and teeth brightly shining. The old man shrugged and started the ride while Dominic and I took a seat on a bench nearby. We looked up at the bright lights mingling with the stars and I begin to understand that the Ferris wheel didn't look that fun compared to relaxing with someone you genuinely like. Looking at Dominic smile with abandon, a warm sensation blooms in my chest, leaving tinges of red on my cheeks, like a spring rose. I know that my heart skips a beat thinking of Dominic and his genuine smile is like a Christmas present to me, but I don't know yet what to do with those feelings yet. Deep down, I hope that with Dominic I can cultivate more than a single rose and create a secret garden with him. A place that's filled with beauty and warmth where we can escape from the cold reality that this world has become.


	10. Bon Bons are Unhealthy

Who knew that flour could stick like glue if it's mixed with egg? Blowing an errant strand of hair out of my face, I try to use my elbow to wipe off the doughy clump stuck to my cheek. Filled with frustration, I stir the messy, chocolaty batter madly. Of all days, why today? And why would a person leave such a big message in a short voicemail? Hurriedly, I dump in the white chocolate chips and mix them in. Following that, I shove the cupcake pan into the oven and quickly whip up a butter cream icing. Five minutes left until I'm late. Fudge. But there's nothing left to do but change quickly and clean up my face.

The reason I'm panicking started when I came home at six from a long day at work, where I was harassed by Renee for the umpteenth time. This time she thought it would be hilarious if she put a spoonful of salt in my coffee and shove her wet gum into my sneakers when I was trying on shoes during my break. I don't really say anything since it's petty but mostly harmless. The only thing that really picks on my nerves is when Renee implies that I'm fat. I'm 5 feet 7 inches weighing in at 110 pounds. If you're going to insult me at least be realistic about it. However, that is not the reason for my distress. When I arrived home and kicked back, I decided to check my voicemail to find nothing interesting except for a little message from Grace explaining that today was the first year anniversary of Strata. It is mandatory for all employees to be at the event. I found a nice lacy Alvarado number that I never got to wear and Sonata heels but I wanted to surprise Dominic since, hell, I like him. The one thing about Dominic that I learned from spending time with him is that he is a pastry fiend. If he even gets a whiff of sugar, he jumps it like a wolf does with raw meat. Ergo, a cupcake sounded like a perfectly sane idea. That is until I actually attempted to make the cursed treat. Spending an hour buying the ingredients, I wasted more than half on some crappy looking cakes that I shoved in the fridge for another time. This batch better come out good or I might as well not go.

In the night, Strata glows with blinding light. Shedding off my coat, I stow it in the coat room and make my way outside where the party was. Effervescent fairy lights shone in the inky blue sky along with the tables covered in shiny, satiny tablecloths. I haven't been to a party since the whole mess and I feel a bit winded. Taking a deep breath and clutching my box of cupcakes, I weave my way through the crowd until someone grabs my hand. For a moment my heart stops, but looking back it turned out to be a handsome yet drunk man, who wanted my number despite the fact he was wearing an ill concealed ring on his ring finger. Promptly, I told him to die in a hole and I stormed off. Minutes later, my arm was grabbed roughly and I could tell it was Drunkie.

"Hey, girls like you don't walk away from me." He slurred.

I tried to pry him off me, but he was like the Hulk with bad breath and an even worse ego. Disgusted, I sneered. "First of all, you're a low-life creep that shouldn't even be married let alone be able to reproduce. Second of all, guys like you deserve to get smacked but I wouldn't want to make you cry."

"Oh really? At least I don't look like I crawled out of suburbia with a bad haircut. You think you're so big since you've 'made it' in New York but decent looking girls like you don't even last a second." He shoved me against a table, making me drop my box of cupcakes, and brought his face close to mine, reeking of vodka.

"Wow, I'm decent looking? That's the best complement I've gotten all year. And yeah, I came from suburbia but I'm pretty sure you crawled out of a hole dug deep into hell. Now, do society a favor and go back. You know girls are the ones that get drunk easier but guys are always the ones who look uglier." I'm usually not this bitchy but I'm sick of getting pushed around by everyone and anyone. Again, I tugged my arm, attempting to set it free, to no avail.

"Look, buddy, if a lady says no then it's time to go." A shadow looms over us and I try to see who it is.

Clumsily, Drunkie utters a single, "Wurgh?" before getting shoved off. A look of fear and resignation mingles in his eyes and then he bolts.

Gathering the slightly smashed cupcakes, I look up to thank my savior only to wish I was dead. "Thanks… Joe."

"Can we talk, please?" Now it was Joe's turn to take a hold of my arm.

Keeping my back to him, my voice comes out as cold, detached and sarcastic. "Promise not to kiss me? I'd hate to feel even dirtier."

"That was a mistake."

Wow, that is not what I wanted to hear. Barely able to restrain the hurt in my voice, I seize control in my arm and break it out of his grip. "That you cheated on your fiancée or that you kissed me? Don't even answer that. You know that drunken idiot has more integrity in his ring finger than you do?"

"That's not fair. I thought that's what you always wanted. I know how much you liked me and I realized that I feel the same way. I didn't want to hurt your feelings."

Oh my god, it is official: I hate him. Scoffing, I reply angrily. "If you really 'liked' me as much as I loved you, you would have been honest and broken up with Grace or tell me that we're friends and that's all we could ever be. At least then I could forgive you. I spent years hanging onto your every word, thought, and action but now I see how much of a scummy play boy you are. Well newsflash, I'm not you're your new toy. Also stop calling me, or I'll tell Grace. The only reason I haven't was because I respect her. Don't make me break her heart or I'll break yours next. Have fun."

Who knew taking someone down a notch could feel so empowering? I feel like Superman after he kicked Lex Luthor's ass. Shit, I feel as if I just robbed a bank and got away with it. I can do anything.

"Well … well … well. Look who it is. It's Slippy Fingers." God, did I do anything to cross you? Facing me with her posse, glossy hair with even glossier lips, is Sasha de Bitch Bitch (oops is that an extra "bitch?" well I don't give an eff). Her posse consists of a frosted blond stick and Renee. Sasha is wearing a silver, skintight Alvarado dress with patent red pumps, her 200 dollar haircut is perfected into luscious waves. I wasn't aware that Paul Mitchell groomed dogs too.

"Is that an insult? Because I'm so devastated. I'm pretty sure if you had a soul, you could see my tears. Too bad you don't."

Quickly, the blond inserts herself in my face, pushing her finger into my chest every time she says a word. "Hey, you're the bitch that ruined Sasha's 100 dollar coat. You should apologize like right now."

No longer pleasantly bitchy, my hand grips the blonde's finger tightly as I face Sasha. "Hey, I wasn't aware you trained your dog to bark. Can it roll over or play dead?"

"Look, Sasha, the fat bitch bakes!" Renee eagerly grabs the box out of my hand and the blonde keeps me back from taking them back. Giggling, the two beasts in pretty girl suits dig into the box. "Ooh, cupcakes! Better try them out before they transfer into her thighs."

After taking a bite, Sasha and Renee immediately spit it out. Sasha uses her fingers to take wipe off crumbs in her face. "Oh gross, it's chocolate! This is why I hate cupcakes. Especially when ugly people make them. That's probably why you got fired before."

Beyond frustrated, I screech. "You, demonic bitch, if you hate cupcakes, why would you eat one? Are you retarded? No wait, that's insulting to mentally challenged people. What did I ever do to you beside ruin a coat that your daddy probably already replaced? Are you that immature? Small wonder that Dominic dumped you. He was sick of dating a seventh grader! You already fired me from a job and what do you want more?" Turning my attention to Renee, I cry out, "And you! What is your problem? Aside from the fact that you're perpetually constipated."

Safe to say my tirade was cut off when Sasha smashed a cupcake into my face. Dusting her hands, Sasha smirked, "Look, Renee, I just 'transferred' my cupcake into her face. Look, Carol or whatever hick name your uncultured parents named you, you don't get to mess with me or mention my dad's name without a little payback. You don't cross a de Bonne and get away scot free. Girls."

In synchronization, Sasha and her posse leave but not before I experience something weird. It's Renee and the look in her eyes is soft and almost sympathetic. She hands me a tissue pack with a dare I say it concerned gaze. Is this the same Renee that put gum in my shoe just this morning? She scurries off before Sasha realizes, leaving me mystified.

Staring at the ruined cakes, I want to burst into tears. Why me? Why is it never Myra or Didi or Olivia? Picking up the remains of the crumbled treats, my heart aches as I wish for my brother to be by my side. Knowing that he'll never be, a tear drops and seeps into the cupcakes. I just want to be held in my brother's arms just one last time. As if God answered my prayer, a pair of arms wrap around me comfortingly.

Immediately, I can tell who it is by his soothing voice. Hearing Dominic speak makes me want to cry even more. "Don't cry. When angels cry, the whole Earth cries with them."

_Be strong and keep calm_, my brother's voice rings calmly in my head. Right. Resolving to listen to my brother, I force my eyes to stop leaking salty tears by blinking rapidly. I have got to stop crying, for Pete's sake, I'm 24 years old! I can't go blubbering like a baby in front of the guy, man, boy, whatever that I like.

The air felt tingly against my skin and the fairy lights mingled with the stars. The rooftop of Strata is so tranquil I as if I could lose myself here and never look back.

Gulping down the glass of cherry limeade, I gaze apologetically at Dominic. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to congratulate you on the hard work you've done but all I did was make a giant mess. I couldn't control myself around her."

"Girls like Sasha are wolves that prey on reactions. You have to ignore her and know that she's pathetic. She's a barracuda with a pretty smile. Personally, I can't remember what I saw in her."

Giggling, I ask, "Did you just call her a barracuda and a wolf? I thought that she was more like a love child of theirs."

"You look stunning."

"Even with frosting on my face? By the way, I'm sorry that the cupcakes were ruined. I know how much you like sweets."

"Even with. And it is not a big deal; I could just do this instead." Before I could even breath in, before my heart could even skip a beat, before I could even anticipate what he was going to do, Dominic swipes at my cheek lightheartedly and licks the frosting off his finger. "Mmm, it tastes sweet just like you."

Annoyed but somewhat relieved, I punch his arm half-passive aggressively and half-playfully, "Are you saying I taste sweet? Gross, I'm not a gingerbread man. Please save your cheesy lines for some other girl."

"Ow, what on Earth do you eat, Corrine? Spinach? Also, what other girl are you talking about? The only girl I see with me right now is the one I deeply care about and would hate to see hurt."

My face burns as I duck my head in my knees. "You Brits sure are direct. No wonder you have stories like Pride and Prejudice while Americans have Twilight."

An hour later of talking, Dominic lays his head against my shoulder and starts to nod off. The burning anger and frustration that had such a tight hold on me has ebbed away slowly but surely. Watching Dominic, with his peachy skin tinted pink from the cold, sleeping serenely without a care in the world it makes me wish that time could stop. Quietly and carefully, I grasp my frigid hands and feverishly rub them together. Then, I clasp my hands together and pray with vigor to that giant man in the sky that Dominic and I have a chance and that I, for the love of him, don't act like an idiot and let that chance slip by.

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><p><strong>AN: I know that I got to stop making Corrine cry and I promise that things will be more happier but I can't promise that there will be no more party scenes. It's the perfect atmosphere for drama and New York. Hope more people will R&R and hopefully support me.  
><strong>


	11. Invasion of the Bitch Snatchers

**A/N: Corrine really let's loose her potty mouth in this chapter. Before school starts for me, I thought that I'd do a couple of quick chapters. **

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><p>Help me. It's Friday afternoon in Strata which means that all hell has broken loose. At the moment, ten girls, all carrying the same things that they're wearing already, are mobbing me and tugging at my limbs in an attempt to obtain me. Six of them are foaming at the mouth while the other four have their nails digging into my arms. One girl already bit me. It also doesn't help that it's another holiday sale with everything at fifty percent off. Grace and Renee aren't any better as Grace is shoved against the register and Renee's toes are bleeding from being stubbed too many times. Lately, Renee has still been bitchy but she's stopped with the terrible pranks while I've scaled on the bitchy comebacks and the urge to stuff a sock down Renee's throat. Grace, bless her heart, has been so involved in her wedding that she hasn't even noticed.<p>

"Oh darling, I've finally found you!" An ecstatic, French-accented voice trills behind me.

"Oh my god, what?" Whirling around in a fit of pent up rage and bloody limbs, I seethe at the last person that deserved it.

Rococo flinched and I could smell the fear emanating from her. Immediately, a wave of guilt overcomes me and I apologize profusely. "I'm so sorry, Rococo. It's just a long day."

"Ooh, darling, did someone bite you?" As if sensing another girl approaching me, Rococo snarls threateningly, scaring both the girl and me. "Fifteen years in retail prepare a girl for anything. It's worse than childrearing."

Uncertainly, I inquire why Rococo needed me. "That's wonderful. You said you were looking for me?"

"Why yes I was! Aren't you a smart cookie?" She pinches my cheek and I remind myself that she's not a rabies-infected customer but an actual person. She hands me a black sheet of paper smothered in glitter and fluorescent writing while giving a verbal explanation. "You see, doll, there's this annual contest for budding designers held in Milan on the eve of June in order to kick off Summer Fashion Week. The grand prize is ten-thousand dollars and a cover feature on _Nuances_. I thought that it would just be perfect for you. Sounds lovely, does it not?"

Shrugging, I start to wander off, leaving Rococo to trail behind me. "Umm, I don't know. I don't really have any idea on what to make and I'm really comfortable where I am. I have a steady job, people who appreciate me, and a cozy home."

"Well, honey, if you get sick of being safe, call me. I'll take care of everything from there." Rococo is as subtle as a gun and she reeks of disappointment but I meant everything I said. If I'm comfortable, why change at all?

* * *

><p>"Thank you, benevolent force of nature, for ridding us, poor wretches, of those heartless beasts." Mockingly, I bow on my knees to Grace, who shuts the front doors of Strata in the midst of giggling. I try not to take it to heart since she laughs at anything; once, I caught her watching pigeons ripping apart a worm and laughing hysterically. "Thank you, I'll be here until the end of time. Try the veal."<p>

"Bye, Cori." Grace swings her hobo bag over her shoulder and locks the doors behind her. I, meanwhile, go to my locker and take out my purse. After going to the bathroom, I go to the back door and open to stop short.

It's a man's voice, but I recognize it from somewhere. Oh yeah, it's Drunkie. Wonder if he's back for round two. Although, he sounds pretty P O'd. "Wow, you are certifiable and disgusting. That was one night and I was so wasted that I'd sleep with anything that breathes. Don't come to my house ever again and stop bothering my wife. Or else I'll mess you up for real."

"I see you're still wearing the watch I gave you." Renee's voice rings out clearly and defiantly, I'll admit that she has guts.

"Don't test me." A fist slams against the wall and he walks away, leaving a devastated Renee. She's beat up pretty bad; her eye is blacker than midnight and her lip is bleeding. Some guys are a real piece of work. No one deserves this. If that piece of shit was still here, I'd shove a foot up his ass.

"Come on. There you go." I pick up Renee and let her lean on me. Taking her to the locker room, I bring out the first aid kit and get to work. Wiping Neosporin on the cut on her lip, I try to be soothing, "Guys like that get an economy class ride to hell. What a prince this guy is. Too weak to face his own wife that he resorts to taking his anger out on someone else. Pussy."

Wetting a napkin with my water bottle, I clean her face and help her out of her blood stained shirt. Giving her my velvet Alvarado jacket, I hand her a piece of candy and comfort. "You know at the anniversary party that creep tried to hit on me. Little shit couldn't even take a hint. Don't worry about him. You can do million times better than that worthless cretin. He doesn't even deserve to be thought about. Here, have a strawberry candy it'll take your mind off the pain. Throw the shirt in the washer with some OxyClean and the stains will be gone as fast as you can say, 'Billy Mays.'"

"Is he right though?" Her bruised lip trembles and she lays her head on my shoulder, crying her heart out. Stiffly, I pat her back and pray she stops bawling. I've never felt this awkward before. I mean this girl is the one who put a rat in my locker and spat in my sandwich.

Half an hour later, she finishes her crying jag and sniffles her thanks. "I'm really sorry for all those mean things I did to you. I know I wasn't very nice but I felt afraid. I thought you were going to take everything from me and I acted on my fears. You're really not a bad person and your clothes aren't that ugly or boho as I said."

"Thanks, you're better than a Hall Mark card on the holidays."

"And you're funny too." She laughs sweetly. Am I in the Twilight Zone or is Renee actually laughing with me and not at me?

"Listen, I wasn't nice to you either. I figured that if you were bitchy to me then I'd up the ante. It was unprofessional and rude for me to act like that. Now, I can see that I was wrong."

"It's okay. Corrine, do you mind if we become friends? I know friendship isn't instantaneous but I want to grow to like you."

"That sounds cool. You can return my jacket anytime you feel like."

As we walked outside, Renee hugs with tightly as if she's afraid of letting go. "Thank you."

Trying to act cool, I clap my hand against her back and say, "No biggie. If that jerk comes back, tell me. I'll give him a present he'll never forget."

* * *

><p>"Say hi to the kids for me, Jerry." I tell the elevator operator in my apartment building. He tips his cap in acknowledgment and closes the elevator gate behind me.<p>

Reaching for the doorknob, my hand becomes confused. Twisting and turning the knob, I fumble for the extra key under the doormat. This is weird. Weirder than the whole Renee thing. Myra never locks the door; in fact, I'm always the one to do it since she's too busy to remember. She keeps reminding me that the penthouse is equipped with a STRANGER DANGER security system which used to try to arrest me when I first started living with Myra.

"Not cool, Myra. Of all the times to lock the door, why now?" Arriving into the dining room, I stop cold. A thin woman with curly carrot hair restrained in a severe bun and beige Jackie Kennedy suit is speaking to a rugged man with wild graying hair and plaid lumberjack shirt tucked in a pair of khakis. They turn around in surprise and I clear my throat to address the individuals with as much detachment possible. "Hello, mother, father."

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><p><strong>AN: Be wary, there will be some drama coming.**


	12. Does a Star have Warmth?

**A/N: Again there's cursing but it's well deserved. **

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><p>"What brings you to New York?" My voice comes out as cold and uncaring as I feel and I continue to push around the honey glazed carrots on my plate.<p>

"Didn't Myra tell you? She invited us as an anniversary present. Unlike some children, she understands gratitude." Yep, that's my mom for you: Passive Aggressive Queen Extraordinaire. From her perfectly groomed eyebrows to her lint free clothing, Marie Flynn expects perfection from anything that dares to cross her way. "Honey, don't play with your food. Honestly, you can be extremely childish."

Gritting my teeth, I shove a carrot in my mouth and chew vigorously. "Oh, I'm sorry, mother. I guess I lost my appetite. I wonder how that could have happened."

Digging her heel in my foot, Myra changes the subject, "How are the Morrisons? Did they get that poodle the girls wanted so much?"

"Yes they did. Janet Morrison was so sweet, she bought the girls the poodle and everything it needed. I guess with the money she makes as a lawyer, she can afford it." Mother smiles warmly at Myra as if caring about a neighbors' poodle mattered. Jesus, not again with Janet "Super Bitch" Morrison, I'm so sick of being compared to that evil bitch.

"I wonder if she can afford a personality transplant." I mutter but my mother has better hearing than a hunting dog.

"I never knew what your deal with Janet was but I'll guess it came from Ann. I guess jealousy skips a generation."

Struggling to keep my voice calm, I force my anger into gripping the table. How dare she bring up grandma like this? Does she even have a heart? "Why are you even here?"

Before my mother could answer snidely, my father attempts to sound appeasing. "Well, I gave Henry a call and all the arrangements are set for your return to Harvard in the fall. We came to tell you, so you could pack up and move back home right away. After all, you'll need a lot of catching up to do after your little 'hiatus.'"

No longer able to stop, I angrily slam my fork against the table and tell them, "Are you deaf? When did I say I want to go back to that snobby, elitist hell? No means no! So tell Henry to shove his little arrangement where it hurts! I'm never going back and you can't make me!"

No longer kind, my father smashes his fist against the table with even more voice and shouts, "That's it! I've tolerated your foolishness long enough! You've been acting like a goddamn child for too long and it's time you grow up! How dare you waste my time and money without giving a damn about others! You ungrateful wretch!"

A scream of frustration rips out of my mouth and I yell, "I hate you! That's all you care about! Money money money! Screw you and your fucking money! I'm so sorry I can't be the perfect child for you, in order to that I'd have to sell my fucking soul to the devil. You think money is the shit but all it really proves is how much of a selfish, snobby prick you are. Hell if I died today, all you'd care about is the cost of the fucking funeral!"

"Corrine Adelaide Flynn, how dare you speak to your father in that tone! Do you have any gratitude for what we did for you and your life? You haven't even shown any sense of initiative in making a living. "

"Oh please, I heard you speak to Grandma Ann even worse. And what should I be grateful for: the parental pressure or neglect? The only time you cared for me was when I got into Har-fucking-vard. You act like I'm ungrateful but it's not my fault if you're unfit parents, who've never even given me a hug once in my life. And I'll be making a career out of my passion, designing clothes."

Slamming his fist against the table again, he makes a dent in the table. To my chagrin, he sneers. "Don't ever speak to your mother like that and keep my mother out of this. She was obviously a negative influence on you and Dan. I should have put that woman in a nursing home when I had the chance. Fool, you think affection makes a person more successful in life? Now, be a smart girl for once and pack up your bags because stitching clothes won't pay the rent."

Furiously, I hurl my dinner plate at my father but it misses and crashes into the stainless, white wall behind him, creating splotches of red, orange and green. Tears burst out of my eyes, causing my vision to blur, as I scream. "GET OUT! I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU EVER AGAIN! YOU'RE DONE MAKING MY LIFE MISERABLE AND IT'S BECAUSE OF YOU THAT DAN COULDN'T LIVE WITH HIMSELF!"

Coldly, my father glares stonily, "Dan was weak. You have two weeks to change your mind and then, I'll come and drag you back myself."

"If you even try, I'll fight you every step of the way. I'll keep running away until it makes you sick. You'll have to drug me until I become a vegetable to get what you want." My voice loses its pace and grows hoarse, but I stand my ground resolutely.

Impassively, my father and mother gather their belongings and prior to leaving, my father shrugs indifferently to me. "It doesn't matter to me. Myra's going to end your little 'stay' by the end of the week and then, you'll come running back. If I were you, I'd give up the fight. It isn't worth it."

The door slams and I'm speechless. Carefully, Myra picks up the shattered pieces of the plate and throws them in the trash. I can tell she's sobbing by the way her shoulders rise and fall agitatedly.

"Myra…" Tenderly, I put my arm around her but she pushes it away.

Pissed, Myra reprimands me. "Why do you always make a mess? Does it make you happy to yell at mom and dad?"

I don't believe this. Scoffing, I return the icy tone. "Don't tell me you're taking their side. Do you not see the crap they put me through or do you always bury the crappy parts in life under a false sense of security?"

"Mom and dad sacrificed so much for you."

"They did it in their own self-interest! Of course you wouldn't know because they just pamper you like a princess! You're life is so perfect, it's one pink convertible away from surpassing Barbie's. While Dan and I had to earn our love, you had such an easy ride. Do you know how desperate Dan was for any sign of love from the ice king and queen?"

"You make me sick. It's not mom and dad's fault that Dan did what he did. You act like they gave you so much shit and expect the world from you. It's always about you!"

"What on Earth are you talking about? I think I'm allowed to be a little bit selfish since I spent half of my life protecting you! God, you know why my parents give you so much love? It's because they feel so guilty that you got abandoned and they're trying to buy out their guilt." Shit, where's the rewind button. I went too far. Myra's hand swipes across my cheek in a hard, stinging slap. She begins to grab her purse and put on her shoes.

Deadly silent, Myra intently gazes at me. "I'm leaving. In twenty minutes, I'll be back and by then you better be gone. Since I'll be married soon, I'm going to sell the penthouse and move into a house with Jack. I might as well clear it out now. Dad is right; you can't make a living off of sewing clothes so you better get your act together because I'm not helping you anymore. I'm tired of babysitting you."

Grabbing my bag, I shove her out of the way. Tearfully, I glare back at her. "You know what? Let me do you one last favor, princess. I'd hate to be trouble. I'll be back later to pick up my things."

Opening the door, I throw my set of keys at her and storm out of the house. Once I leave the building, I signal for a cab. When one finally comes, I get in as quickly as I can and tell him where to go. On the way, everything starts to blur into one gigantic, shapeless commotion as I pull out my emergency chocolate bar only to put it away. But I'm not hungry. I'm white with rage. Beyond furious, I punch the door of the cab and tune out the cab driver's reprieves. After paying the disgruntled man, I take a breath of the cold, fresh night air. I know the park is restricted after eight but I don't care. Minutes later, I'm swinging on a red plastic swing, my fury melting away with each swing. It usually doesn't take too long to cool off for me and loneliness builds a wall around me. Looking at the millions of bright stars dotting the inky blue sky, I wish I could touch one just to feel warm.

A call arrives and my phone instantly rings annoyingly. Flipping open the phone, I open my mouth to speak but all that comes out is a watery sob.

"Corrine? Is that you?"

Choking back the lump in my throat, I whisper, "Hi, Dominic."

"Are you okay?"

"Fine. I feel like a star."

"What are you doing?"

"I'm at Jackson Park in the playground with the swings."

"Isn't it closed right now? Is Miss Goody Two Shoes doing something illegal?" The playfulness and affection in Dominic's cause me to lose it. Putting the phone on my lap, I put my hands over my mouth to muffle the sounds of my weeping, letting the tears weave their way down my cheeks and onto the phone. Not in front of Dominic, I don't want to burden him. I've already burdened him too much with my tears. He's probably sick of me and my hormones.

Even though I'm talking to the nicest person in the world, I can't help but feel helpless. Wanting to hear the sound of his voice, I let him keep talking but all he says is, "Wait for me. I'll be there."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Yes, Corrine's crying again but she's a very emotional person. Please be understanding and not groan in annoyance. Sometimes in life, you have to let go and cry. Also, I've been listening to depressing songs so please recommend me something cheerful to listen to. R&R please. **


	13. Knight in Shining Bramor

Something's wrong. Corrine sounded funny on the phone. Sad and lonely. I know because my parents' death left me sounding exactly like that. It took months before I could speak without crying. Sabina, my older sister, is so busy looking at herself in the mirror that she barely even notices that they're gone. Despite being my caretaker and friend since I was four, Godfrey isn't the comforting type either. Same goes for Eunice. And I'm not that close to anyone else in my life. But I want to be with Corrine. When she speaks, her voice is soothing and filled with tenderness. It's hard not to tell her my deepest, darkest secrets.

"Master Dominic, forgive my impertinence, but what is Miss Flynn doing out in the bloody cold at this hour?" Godfrey scratches his head, stressed that he is missing his Doctor Who marathon. I would drive but I haven not gotten around to learning how.

"Godfrey, I don't know myself. To be frank, she confounds me in ways I can not explain. I only know that she needs help. I can feel it in my bones."

"Please, master, the next time you feel something in your bones, see a doctor. This is my day off and I thought that I would be able to enjoy a bit of Matt Smith tonight. I find his interpretation of the Doctor to be most enjoyable."

Distractedly, I agree with him. Upon reaching the park, I hop out and remind Godfrey not to leave me for Matt Smith. Walking deeper into the park, I hear a commotion near the playground and I immediately quicken my pace. It sounds like a girl and two guys fighting.

I recognize Corrine's voice ring out clearly and defiantly, not sounding like she did before. "I told you to get lost. Leave before you piss me off."

"Ooh, look at Miss High-And-Mighty. Too busy to play?" One of the Neanderthals leers at her, making me inexplicably annoyed. Corrine, meanwhile, is swinging on her swing like nothing is amiss.

"Gentlemen, if a lady doesn't want anything to do with you, I suggest you take a hint." My heart is pounding madly, about to burst, and my voice comes out squeaker than I would have liked. The two hoodlums exchange a glance and begin to walk in my direction, despite the fact that I'm heading towards them anyway. "How about it? You, fellows, leave the girl alone and no one gets hurt."

"Nah, that's not fun." The one leering at Corrine whips out his fist, smashing it into my face. My legs weaken and my body slumps onto the ground. Not good.

My vision starts to darken as I lose consciousness but I'm still able to watch the moment when Corrine hits the man in his groin with her enormous purse. The other one struggles to aid his friend as Corrine slams her elbow in his stomach, bringing him to his knees. Definitely angry, Corrine kicks them a bit more than necessary and gives them both a good bye kick on their butts.

"I told you losers to get lost!" She shakes her fist at the crying men. Dusting off her hands, Corrine picks me up without trouble and sighs. Muttering to herself, she comments. "Déjà vu much?"

* * *

><p>"Come on, big boy. Let's lay you down on the nice couch." Dear God, I hope I'm not in a brothel. And where is my shirt? Rising up only to be pushed back down gently, a sweet voice coos. "You'll need some rest. Jesus, Olivia was totally right when she said Brits couldn't fight."<p>

"Corrine?" Feeling hazy, I let soft hands bathe my brow.

"B-I-N-G-O. Have some water." She puts a bottle to my lips but I push it away due to nausea.

The events prior to the present return to me and I can only feel embarrassed. "That was not supposed to happen."

"Well, no one asked you to defend me but I still think it's cute that you tried." Calmly, Corrine wrings out the towel into a bucket filled with water and ice. "Godfrey said to do this to make you feel better but isn't he just a butler?"

"Not at all, he was a nurse in World War Two."

Snickering, Corrine raises an eyebrow. "A nurse? Don't you mean a medic? Hmm, I wonder if his uniform consisted of a short skirt and a sultry voice."

The image is horrifying and I can sense that my face has conveyed what I felt. Covering her mouth, Corrine laughs at my expression. "I wish I had a mirror… oh wait I do."

Pulling out a compact, she flips it open to reveal a skinny, shirtless man with a scrunched up bloody nose, twitching eyes, and mouth twisted in different directions from the horror of it all. Oddly enough, something bubbly rises from chest and bursts out my mouth. It is laughter and I can't stop. Of course there is nothing amusing about a bloody, shirtless man but for an unfathomable reason I can't stop.

"Please, Corrine, spare me the nightmares. Also, what happened to my shirt?"

Corrine shrugs noncommittally. "Turns out, you're quite a bleeder. Godfrey took your shirt somewhere and your maid is bringing another one over soon. Take it from me but your maid needs a break, all she did was snarl and bark some really rude things at me. Then, I asked for some water and she gave me a look that would give Freddy Krueger nightmares."

"Oh, you mean Eunice. She is naturally wound up and she refuses to unwind. I love her but I don't know what to do with her."

"Ah, you love her." Corrine's face is cheerful but her voice is filled with, dare I say it, disappointment.

"Oh no, please do not misunderstand. I love Eunice like a sister. She is just a bit difficult."

"Good because then I couldn't have given you this." Lowering her eyelids, she brings her face close to mine and I close my eyes, every muscle in my body tightening in anticipation. However, I did not expect my nose to feel as if it is being twisted.

"Tweak." Corrine lets go of my nose and winks at me. "Can't have people misunderstanding this right?"

Chuckling from relief, I let myself relax. "Of course. What other kind would there be?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Psych! You thought they were going to kiss, huh? I like writing as Dominic, he's so prim and proper. No conjunctions for you, Mister. Plus, Godfrey is a Doctor Who fiend. **


	14. The Sad Tale of the Lawyer and Shop Girl

"Corrine, did you eat something bad?" Inspecting my face, prodding my stomach, and questioning me all at the same time, Grace, who is filled with so much concern you would have thought she was taking care of starving children.

Do I look that bad? It must be those crappy springs in the motel bed. After Myra kicked me out, I decided that we're no longer on speaking terms. If you really want to know, I'm still pretty pissed. No doubt that she is too. I decided to leave my things at her place except for my bare necessities. During the past few days, I bed-hopped at several of my understanding friends' places but I didn't want to bother anyone much and finally settled into a roach motel, several minutes from Strata, for the moment. Let's say that the motel deserves to be shut down and that I've met a colony of rats in my bathroom but its price is dirt cheap. For someone who is dirt poor, I can't complain. Those stupid springs.

Ducking my head in my hands, I tentatively inquire. "How bad?"

"Like you ate five year old garbage out of a corpse. No offense."

"Thanks, Joan Rivers."

"I have some concealer if you want any." She hands over a thin Bakelite tube which I humbly accept. Weaving my way expertly to the bathroom, my ears perk up when I hear a girl screaming from within. Concerned, I open the door to find my worst nightmare.

"God, Renee were you dropped on your head when you were born? I said peach-pomegranate not grape-pomegranate! No wonder everyone calls you a pathetic dog, you can fetch alright but you never bring back what the owner asks for." Sneering with a gleaming row of white teeth, Sasha de Bonne is looming over Renee threateningly. Shiny stick-straight hair flips infuriatingly over Sasha's thin, bony shoulders. Renee, on the other hand, finds the black, reflective floor tiles to be wonderfully interesting. Both look straight up at me as I enter and Sasha smirks malevolently. "Look, who it is: the Muffin Man. Did you enjoy your cupcake facial from before?"

In a saccharine tone, I reply passive-aggressively as I apply concealer to my dark circles. "Not as much as I'd enjoy an attitude readjustment for you. Too bad you can't buy a personality."

Renee snickers but Sasha snaps at her, "At least I have a brain. Unlike you, Renee, I know the difference between peach-pomegranate and grape-pomegranate hand lotion. I heard people as stupid as you have to go to jail for being criminally stupid."

Butting in, I comment. "Is that what you're yapping about? If I were you, I would be worrying about that sneer on your face. You know your face could freeze like that? Not that it'd be a bad thing at least then people could tell how you are feeling all the time, which is being perpetually constipated."

"Oh and you are any better? If I were you, I'd get a facial reconstruction asap and if I were you, Renee, I'd get a brain transplant since you obviously don't have one. Peach and grape are two completely different things, you ditz. The most retarded child in the world has more brain cells than you."

Interrupting Sasha's tirade, I burst out crossly. "What on Earth is your problem? You're mad over lotion. Get over it and either use it or throw it away like a sane person would. The most retarded child in the world has more manners than you do. Jesus, you're the whiniest spoiled brat I've ever met and I've worked at an Upper East Side daycare. No wonder your teeth look so sharp, you're a freaking bloodsucker. Were you literally born with a silver spoon in your mouth? What do you even need lotion for? Your body is surgically enhanced to the point that you could pass off as an actual mannequin. Why couldn't you get your own lotion anyway? I know you're mentally challenged but not enough to be in need of a handicap. Get a life, you monster. People shouldn't have to roll out a red carpet every time you leave your house."

"Excuse me, you dirty… bitch!" Indignantly, Sasha angrily squeaks.

"Is that all you could come up with? I'm trembling." My tone comes out as acerbic and bitterly sarcastic as I feel. After running into my parents, I'm no longer affected by insults spouted from spoiled brats. It is taking every fiber in my being not to smack her head off.

Regaining her composure, Sasha cocks her head confidently, "At least I can afford to live on my own and not in a dirty motel like a dirty mutt. I saw you leave your little doghouse this morning. What happened your "owner" kick you out for not being housetrained?"

"Right, because mooching off of your parents while contributing nothing to society is so much better. You're like Chihuahua with a Napoleon complex and frankly I'm not scared of a bitch like you. You think you can terrorize anyone who dares to cross you but guess what: this bitch has claws too." Beyond cranky, I give Sasha the finger and she shoves me out of the way and slams the door behind her.

"You'll regret this, bitches."

Renee and I glance at each other and breathe a collective sigh of relief. Renee's expression when she speaks to me is filled with awe, "Thank you. You were awesome. I wish I could have said half of what you said."

"Honestly, I'm cranky which means the filter on my mouth has been shut off."

As we walk into the break room, she asks me with furrowed brows, "What did Sasha mean when she said you lived in a motel? I thought you lived with your sister."

I'm not good friends with Renee and I still feel weird about us being friendly but at least I can talk to her. Grace is a good friend too but Joe makes me feel like I have to walk on egg shells around her. Speaking of Joe, somehow, Joe find out my phone number again and is begging to talk with me. He promised to leave me alone if we met today and talk about "us." Twelve 'o clock and my life will become a living hell.

Letting the fragrant steam of fresh coffee engulf my face, I sip tentatively and shut the filter off of my mouth. In a moment of severe weakness, I tell Renee everything from the parents from Hell to my eviction to the roach motel. Renee's expression morphs from anger to indignation to disgust.

"Do you have to stay at an icky motel? Don't you have friends with homes?" One of Renee's lash-framed eyes twitches in fading awe and burgeoning pity. Times like this make me wish I could face-palm her but I'm sure that won't make her smarter. Great, now, I sound like Sasha de Bitchface.

"I don't like to burden others like that. I hate free loaders and I hate free loading. Besides, I'm pretty sure no one likes me enough to catch me without makeup on in the mornings."

"Well, what about Dominic?"

"What about him?"

"Aren't you guys dating? You guys spend so much time together like a couple. If you don't want to ask, someone could drop some friendly hints."

The idea of Renee squealing to Dominic is embarrassing enough to make my face glow red as a Christmas light. "No. Don't even think about it. If you even think about it, I'll strangle you in your sleep. Dominic and I aren't a couple and we will never be one until I have a more stable life, okay? Besides, why would a guy in the top ten tax bracket want to date a girl who coexists with rats?"

"Okay." Renee says with a tone that makes me want to face-palm her even more. "What ever you say. But you better get yourself together or else someone else might pick Dominic up for good. Then, what'll you do?"

* * *

><p>Indeed, what would I do if Dominic moved on? The idea creates this nauseous feeling in the pit of my belly and I want to barf up my guts. You know that moment when you wish the floor swallowed you up and no one would notice that you had even been there? You can not fathom how badly I want that right now. The neon pink sign screams, "Café Happy," but all I can see is a "Café Fuck You" looming ominously over my normally tall body. Filled to the brim, the café is bursting with relatively content people, eating freshly baked pastries while conversing with their friends. Any other time and I would have been ecstatic to be there. Checking myself in the reflection of the large café window, I criticize my outfit: fuzzy, gray sweater with a gold-sequined silhouette of a rabbit that my brother gave me years ago for Christmas and something I would save in a fire over anything else; white denim jeans with baby-blue pinstripes running down my slender legs; and a pair of aqua Adidas high-tops. Cute on any other day but hideously frumpy today.<p>

You can do this, Corrine Adelaide Flynn. What is Joe but a mere boy? An extremely gorgeous boy, who can improve everything around him with just his presence, and has an intelligent mind devoid of disgusting thoughts and general idiocy. Who has also genuinely cared about you for the years you have known each other and never taken advantage of you no matter what. Screw it, you can't do this. Go home to your roach motel and throw yourself a pity party for anyone that cares. Who knew your conscience could be a bitch?

Chickening out, I turn the other way only to hear that cursed voice and feel that damned touch. Smiling wearily, Joe warmly greets me. "Cori, over here! You probably didn't see me in the back."

As if he was on fire, I step back and shrug his hand off of my shoulder. "Let's make this quick."

This is worse than my fifth birthday party which I will never talk about ever. It involved a tarantula jumping out of my cake and a llama kicking my pre-pubescent ass along with my friends' asses. That wasn't the worst part either. For some reason, Joe looks out of place in this homey café in his Armani gray pin-stripe suit and expensive leather brogues. Maybe I did choose the wrong career. He focuses his attention to the waiter, oblivious of my wary gaze.

"I'd like the chicken salad and water. Cori, what do you want?"

"Nothing."

"Come one, it's twelve 'o clock. You have to be hungry for something."

Losing patience, I sarcastically whip through the entire menu, letting the plastic covered pages smack into my annoyed fingers, and slam it shut. Sullenly, I reply scornfully to the waiter, "I'd like… nothing at all if you don't mind."

"She'd like a glass of half-Sprite and half-Hi-C." The waiter nods and leaves whilst Joe returns his attention to me. "That's your favorite, I remember. Just like that sweater is your favorite. You used to wear that all winter long even if it smelled a bit. Your brother gave that to you as a Christmas present right?"

He's right but that doesn't mean I hate him any less. "What do you want, a medal? Let's get to the point, okay? I don't want to see you ever again. You made me feel like crap for all the years I've known you and what's worse is that all you've done is be nice to me. I think it is best that you and I forget everything between us and leave it at that."

"Cori, be reasonable."

I want to be but I can't or I'll end up in that cycle again. Holding up my hand, I take a moment to breathe. "No, I spent two years pining for you and I'm done. Don't call me Cori anymore. From now on, I'm Corrine and you are Joseph. You are a high power lawyer and I am a poor shop girl, both of us will have nothing to do with each other. The lawyer forgets about the shop girl and the shop girl forgets about the lawyer. The end."

My voice wobbles precariously on the verge of tears. Rising out of the cold, metal chair, I pick up my things. Desperately, his warm hand clutches onto my cold one. My throat contracts feverishly in an effort to breathe only to have the swollen lump in it grow.

Taking off his glasses, Joe wipes his eyes with the heel of his hand and whispers. "What happens if the lawyer wants to keep the memories of the shop girl alive? What if he now knows the poor shop girl is worth more than gold to him and that he'd go through every level of Hell just catch a glance of her beautiful face?"

"I'm not that shop girl anymore. You had your chance. Go back home to your fiancée and pretend you don't know me. Live a happy, fulfilling life with your future wife. Let's move on in different directions." Remorsefully, I remove his hand off of mine tenderly. In my heart, I know that this will be the last time I'll ever see Joe as Joe and it the thought is picking apart my heart to pieces.

Turning my trembling back to him, he warns me bitterly. "Don't fall for Dominic; he'll tear you apart and throw you away when you're no longer fun without so much as a care."

"Good bye, Joseph."

Like a man on death row, I stumble aimlessly yet proudly out of the searing heat of Café Happy into the frigid, stinging cold of New York. Dead man walking.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: From now on I'll do something called Satin Rose Saturdays, where I'll post a new chapter every Saturday except for this Saturday since I already did one. School is keeping me busy but I'll try my best.  
><strong>


	15. The Pink Pony Vs Totoro

**Dominic's POV.**

* * *

><p>You can do this, I tell myself in the Old-Spice-Guy's voice. You are a man. A manly man. Well… ok, a semi-wimpy semi-manly man. Can I do this? In a panicked state, my heart pounds furiously against my ribcage, my throat tightens, and my fingers tremble. The sunflower nearly slips through my shaky fingers, snapping me back to reality. It is five 'o clock and she should be done working by now. Yes, here she comes now, loose curls looming over her round cheeks.<p>

"Hello, Corrine."

Dazed, Corrine peers upwards dumbfounded. Her normally pale complexion is red and the skin on her face is raw. Her darkened eyes are swollen and puffy. She looks wretched. "Hi Dominic."

Holding out the large sunflower, I feel my face growing hotter with each syllable that slides out of my lips as we walk down the street together. "For you. Corrine, we have known each other for a good amount of time and I feel as though we are fine friends…What I mean to inquire is if you would not mind going on a date with me?"

Bringing the flower to her serene face to smell, she hesitates in speaking. "Thank you, that's so sweet Dominic but I have to say no. Not because I don't like you or that I'm seeing someone else but I need time…to straighten out my life before I start a relationship. I hope you understand."

"I see…" A plane could have crashed where I stand, and there is no way that could have been worse. However, I wonder what she means by "straightening out" her life. "I do not wish to be rude but what problems do you have in your life?"

"Aank! Sorry, that question is unanswerable. Ask me never again." In an effort to distract me, she puts her soft hand on my mussed hair. Playing with my long bangs, she remarks dryly. "Speaking of problems, when are you getting a hair cut? You look like the Shaggy Dog."

Chuckling, I ask, "The Shaggy Dog?"

"Movie. Tim Allen. Horrible and life-scarring. Don't Netflix it. Ever." To emphasize her point, she shudders. She makes as if to speak but she falters again. "Didi is having a birthday party tonight. It's with other people I don't know and I was considering a rain check, but I'll go if you do. Not as a date of course but good friends. Air buddies. Whatever floats your boat in the moat. Sorry, too cheesy, huh? Are you in?"

At a loss of words due to her cute yet embarrassing speech, I accept distractedly. "Of course, I will attend Didi's party. I have been meaning to ask her for a haircut anyhow."

"Cool, the party will be at this new place called Cary 'O Key's. Apparently, it's a karaoke bar but it'll be fun. You'll see. Now, don't freak out. One last corny phrase and I'll be gone like an escape artist. So, catch you later alligator." No longer appearing depressed, Corrine good-naturedly winks and departs, crossing the street and mingling into the homogenous crowd that makes New York. Leaving me to question: Cary 'O Key's?

* * *

><p>"Dominic, your appearance is competent. However, your hair needs work, not to be impudent." Eunice places her calloused hands on my forehead and pushes my bangs back. "Have you considered slicking your hair back?"<p>

"No, thank you. Godfrey, what time is it? The whole affair should begin at eight-thirty."

Swatting the dust off of my shoulders, Eunice points to a coat draped over my bed. "Godfrey is waiting for you. Now hurry up and get your coat. Everything you will need should be in it, except, unfortunately, a haircut. Your hair reminds me of a dog's shaggy coat."

Hurriedly, I make my way down to the town car before my laughter could be heard by Eunice. Godfrey nods understandingly upon listening to my breathless explanation and joins in the merriment. As it pulls out of the smooth stone driveway, the town car leaves the mansion, filled with joy and mirth.

"I expect you will call a taxi when the festivities have concluded, sir?" Godfrey cocks his head to the side expectantly.

"Certainly, I would not enjoy burdening you for the rest of the night. I will tell Libby you said hello. Have a peaceful night off, Godfrey." Casually, I shut the car door and head towards the filthy pub-like venue.

"Cary 'o Key's" is spelled in neon pink loopy letters intertwined together that dance playfully against the gritty brick wall. Hanging on the window of the pub is a bright green flag with a dark green clover embossed in the center. The window itself is soiled with a small poster of the pub's health rating which says it is an "A" but it appears to be that one leg of the "A" has been taped on. In a kitsch manner, Cary 'O Key's give the impression of being as comforting and safe as an aged harlot.

Cupping my eyes with cold hands, a cheerful voice brings tranquility to my mind. "Guess who? You can have three hints."

"Is it someone that has broken ten wooden brushes with only her hair? And has a disposition for cursing?"

"Har har, you're a comedic magician. Wait, is that gel in your hair?" Drawing back her thin fingers, I can hear snickering coming from behind me. Gel? Running my hand through my, now discovered, slicked back hair, I realize why Godfrey was laughing and one thought runs through my head: Eunice. As I turn around to defend myself, I am stunned. Raucous, tangled hair had been straightened into sleek waterfall of lustrous copper. From a pair of beige clunky heels, slender legs sprout upwards only to end under a layer of crisp black leather. The leather black dress is matte and perfectly fitted to Corrine's thin, gamine figure. The last feature I see is a pair of petal-pink lips spread out in a shy smile, which lead up to sparkling green eyes smudged artfully with kohl. Why is it that I can have an industrial empire but not the most beautiful woman in the world?

Lifting my chin up, Corrine remarks casually, "You're gaping. How cute."

"You look lovely." Earnestly, I reply making Corrine's porcelain cheeks darken.

"Drink? It's all free. Didi's paying for it all. Don't you just love her?" Handing over a mug of beer, Corrine slurps hers until her mug is dry.

Instead of joining her, I put aside my beer, too distracted to drink by a rousing performance of "Baby" by Justin Beiber by three burly men, who find it hilarious and cannot stop laughing. Honestly, I do not like this "Beiber," who at first I thought was an American joke, but to each his own. Familiar faces greet me and we converse for a few more minutes. Corrine introduces me to Didi's beautiful sisters, who all wear matching skintight dresses and appear to be extremely identical in personality and volume. Then, we meet up with the birthday girl herself, whose cocoa skin glows radiantly even in this terrible lighting.

"Happy birthday, Dee. And thanks for the free beer. Honestly, that's the only reason I came anyway." Corrine jokes as she hugs Didi warmly and hands over a glittery silver box. Instantly, I recognize the packaging from Strata and curiosity overcomes me as I watch Didi open the delicate parcel. Didi lets out a gasp of awe as she holds up an emerald green velvet shift with a single strap made of tiny red velvet roses. Shuffling her feet awkwardly, Corrine accepts a tearful, grateful hug from Didi.

"I love it! Where did you get it?"

"You know me, Dee."

Another gasp escapes from Didi's lips, "You made it! Okay, I officially love you more than anything else in the world, even free beer."

"I love you too, babe." Corrine smiles warmly, exuding happiness that could never be faked.

Warily, I hand over a matching silver shoe box from Strata and sincerely tell Didi, "Happy birthday, I hope you live a long and healthy life."

"Aw, thanks Brit." Smothering me in a hug, Didi only releases me when her attention focuses on the gift. Squealing, Didi lifts out two emerald green shoes from Sonata with bows attached. Contrasting Didi's reaction was Corrine, who throws me a strange glance; an expression filled with anxiety and disappointment. Her glance immediately shifts to a more cheerful smile as she coos over the shoes with Didi. Ignoring my presence, Didi starts to chat with Corrine.

"Girl, please don't hate me."

"What? I could never. Unless you did something completely crazy like invite someone I dislike but you wouldn't, right?"

"Wow, that's specific. Umm… surprise?"

Letting out a sigh of frustration, Corrine cautiously asks, "Who?"

"Myra and I know you're totally cool with Grace, but she's bringing Joe. I'm sorry! I just can't say no. Had I known she was bringing Joe, I would have told you."

"Ugh… whatever. It's a big place, chances are we'll never meet. But, next time, warn me so I can practice my 'nice' face. Love you and happy birthday, Dee. I need a drink." Corrine takes no notice of me as she reaches the bar and orders a Bud Light. Licking the foam on her upper lip, her voice starts to have a slight slur. "Mm, this is some good stuff."

She pushes the mug in my face as an offering but I shake my head, "Personally, I detest drinking even in merriment."

Amused, she resumes drinking. "By the way, only Mary Poppins says 'merriment.'"

"Hi, Corrine. Dominic." Grace smiles enthusiastically with Joseph in tow. Joseph appears to have aged twenty years at the sight of Corrine but she pretends to not notice. "Corrine, I love your dress, where did you get it?"

"Your mom's…" Corrine's expression appears to be very severe until laughter bursts out of her mouth. "It's a joke. I got it from AZ-USA on sale."

"Oh… ha ha ha." Grace's smile falters for a moment but fixes it self to its normal perkiness. "So, Corrine, I've been wanting to ask… do you want to somewhere more private?"

"Really you've been wanting to ask me that?" Corrine looks to me for information but I shrug. Oblivious to Corrine's smart remark, Grace drags her to the girl's bathroom, leaving me to talk with Joseph.

"So, Dominic, are you going to smack me in the face again?" Joe kids, punching my arm none too gently.

Nervously, I feign a laugh. "… I guess not."

"Dude, tell me the deal on Corrine. Are you dating her?"

Avoiding eye contact, I grow red in the face. "No, what gave you that idea?"

"Nothing, that's cool." He leans against the counter of the bar and sighs, "But you better get Corrine when you have the chance or I just might snatch her up."

"Pardon?" I inquire.

Joseph resumes laughing and smacks my arm again before walking away, calling back, "It's a joke man. Relax."

"Move, I need a drink. Excuse me…" Corrine pushes me aside with a sickly expression and waves for the bartender's attention, who was chatting with a group of pretty women. "Excuse me…"

"May I ask or is the matter best left alone?"

"I'll take mind your own business for a hundred dollars, Alex… Excuse me…" The edge in her voice sharpens as she impatiently signals for the distracted bartender, who returns the gesture with a shooing motion. "Really?"

Another couple minutes pass by and Corrine waves again. Irritated, Corrine begins to ramble under her breath to my delight. "Excuse me… bartender-ass-who-doesn't-pay-attention-to-someone-who-is-actually-interested-in-him-albeit-only-for-beer…"

Ten minutes pass by when Corrine's eyes begin to twitch and she bursts into a flame of fury and curses. She gruffly calls to the rude bartender. "YO, BUDDY, I ASKED FOR A DRINK NOT FOR A LESSON ON HOW NOT TO PICK UP GIRLS OUT OF YOUR LEAGUE! Can't a girl get a straight up scotch without having to wait a life sentence? Thank you."

Grudgingly, the bartender hands a glass cup filled with amber liquid, mumbling none too subtle curses aimed at Corrine, who returns the courtesy in the form of the middle finger. Corrine spends the next twenty minutes drinking excessively, becoming more loose and bubbly, and slurring every syllable that exits her lips. Her shoulders and eyelids droop in a lax demeanor, and she leaves me to "chill out" with her friends, all of whom are just as inebriated. Feeling out of place, I take a seat at an empty table to watch the karaoke performances. Because of an open bar, half of the singers slur and mumble their way through popular pop music and the more serious half sing wholeheartedly to rowdy, unappreciative audience, all calling for the "Justin Beiber Men." Lethargy creeps closer to me, threatening to take over me, reminding me how late it is. Pushing in my chair, I search my pockets to find my cell phone when I hear a familiar voice.

"Hay, guys and gals, I'm Correey." Corrine holds the microphone to her lips, oblivious to the grating sound the feedback gives. Observing her, I realize that her appearance has changed; she is wearing a few oversized plastic Mardi gras necklaces and a paper crown reading, "The King of Burgers." Her pale face sparkles with microscopic pieces of gold glitter and her lips are painted into a fiery orange shade. In the most peculiar way, her changed appearance is attractive to me. Merrily, she waves to the crowd and speaks in the same slurred manner.

"Sooo, guys, I want to sing a song for my uber cooool boss. His name is Dooomeenic and oh, I see him! There he is!" Excitedly, she points her finger in my direction and the entire audience's eyes follow. It does not alleviate my situation when the glaring stage light focuses itself on me. "Thees is fur yoouu dude, keep being awesome!"

I did not know what song to expect but Corrine's choice shocked me. The song she picked was Elvis Presley's "Hound Dog" and she sang it in the same upbeat style with her smooth voice but tipsily off-key. Astonishingly, she danced to the fast beat well although very amusingly; shaking her hips provocatively in the midst of making cheesy expressions towards the audience. In the middle of the song, she burst out in laughter, joining the audience, and could not quit laughing for the rest of the song. When the song came to a close, the audience cheered and clapped enthusiastically for Corrine while she staggered off stage. Finally, I decided it was time for both of us to leave. Gathering up all of our belongings, I let her lean against my shoulders for support, the thing she most dearly needed.

"Did you enjoy yourself tonight?" The puffs of air form out of my mouth when I address Corrine, who has her arm wrapped around my shoulders.

"Yooouu bet ya ass I had a suuuperr duupeerr time."

"Do you need help going back home?" I knew that the bar was in proximity of Myra's apartment, which is where Corrine lived.

"Ookaay." She breathes into my face, letting the scent of alcohol invade my nose. I pull away instinctively and she laughs, "What? Can't handle alla thisss, Mista Big-Shot?"

She lets go of me and stumbles onto the floor, giggling hysterically. "Oh maw Gawd, I'm sooo clumsy." Suddenly, her giggling comes to an abrupt end and Corrine asks, "Dude… is that a pink horse?"

"Excuse me?" Distracted with the task of raising Corrine up, I comment wryly. "You have had too much to drink Corrine. I doubt a horse let alone a pink one would roam New York at this time of night."

"No, dude, really there is a pink horse alongside that Totoro dude." My eyes move in the direction her finger is pointing to make eye contact with a man dressed in a pink horse costume, advertising for a My Little Pony themed café, fighting another man dressed as Totoro. New York is such an odd place to live in especially in the night.

"Oh, I apologize. Now, how do we get to Myra's apartment?"

"Yeah, I can't go to Myra's." Drunkenly, Corrine resumes giggling, "It's a funny story. She invited my parents over but we had a big fight and then she kicked me out. Sooo, neeow I leeve in a moootel. It's a nice moootel, I've made friends with my roommates, which are the rats but they're toootally cool. They only steal my food occasionally."

"Rats? A moootel? Pray tell, what is a moootel?" Laughing, I shake my head disbelievingly. Her heel gets caught in a crook in the sidewalk and Corrine collapses onto me, causing me to realize seriously that she shouldn't be alone like this let alone with thieving rats. "All right, I have a better plan. Taxi!"

"Oooh, it's so sparkly. Am I in heaven? Thees place ees so pretty like a garden." Corrine attempts a pirouette but falls face first into the poufy, powder-pink queen sized bed in one of the many rooms Strata manor contains. Technically, this room belongs to Sabina, who placed delicate, intricate mirrors in every nook, cranny, and corner of the room along with wallpaper meant to look like an oil painting of a bountiful garden filled with roses, poppies, tulips, and daisies alike. However, Sabina rarely visits America, finding it vulgar and dirty, choosing to live in Japan with my younger teenage sister, Mara. Mara, herself, visits me on holidays, bringing my maternal grandparents occasionally.

"I feel so pretty in this room," Corrine mumbles, succumbing to lethargy, "Like a princess."

Her heavily made lids flutter to a close, her petal pink lips are spread apart slightly, and her silky hair drapes over her round, flushed cheeks. Even inebriated, she looked perfect. Pushing her hair away from her face, I kiss her forehead and murmur, "Goodnight, my princess."

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><p><strong>AN: Yeah, I know I said I would submit a chapter each Saturday but I've switched to every week. So expect it anytime in the week. R&R, please. :D **


	16. Pillows: Weapons of Mass Destruction

**A/N: Hey guys- (*whomp*) Dommo?...er...Dominic... $&%, how did you find me?**

**Dommo/Dominic: Having an iPhone and Google Earth helps. Corrine, what should we do? **

**EJK: Shit, Corrine, you found me too?**

**Corrine: Damn straight. (*whack*) This is what you get for making me look like a drunk weirdo for last chapter. (*whack*)  
><strong>

** EJK: But it was funny, right Velveteen?**

**Corrine:Funny? #$#$%#$$#$%#!#$%%#%##! (*whack**smack**whomp*)  
><strong>

**Dommo/Dominic: (*whack*) This is what you get for making me drag an extremely drunk Corrine home! Four Bath and Body Works and I still cannot get the smell of alcohol out of my nose! And stop calling me "Dommo!" (*whack*) Nobody calls me "Dommo!"  
><strong>

**Corrine:... (brings out her heavy hobo purse)**

**Dominic:Can I say that is a lovely purse? ... Corrine?**

**EJK:(singsongs) Have fun. By the way, Style Savvy and any other recognizable trademarks do not belong to me. **

**Dommo: (*whack*) Ow! Corrine, I have to (*whomp*) apol- (*smack*)... gize... (croaking) you smelled like pleasant alcohol(*whack**whack*whack)... please stop... Esther?**

**Corrine: Also, I'd like to thank everybody that has supported our story and reviewed it. We appreciate feedback and it keeps us alive. So R&R, please. (drags Dommo off to the back) Now, Dominic, my lovely purse says it's time to have a chat.**

** EJK:**(goes back to typing)**Kekeke... I've escaped again.  
><strong>

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><p>Where am I? Why do I smell bacon? Why am I drooling?<p>

My eyelashes flutter heavily as I become conscious. I must be hammered like a nail holding two pieces of plank wood together. Rising from the soft, baby pink covers, all I see is a girl, who's had too much fun, staring back at me. Her dress is crinkled, her eyes are smeared with smoky kohl, her auburn hair is mussed, and her flame-orange lipstick is smudged across her face. Geez, I look like Kesha. Carefully, I rake my fingers through my thick hair in hopes of straightening the bushy mess.

As I ponder on my past night, I can only remember two things: a pink horse and Totoro. My forehead pulsates with each inquiry I make in my mind. I'm just about to abandon my efforts when I spot my glittery clutch. Snapping the lock open, I dig into my bag and come up with a crumpled, grease-stained note saying "Meet Dominic at Carey 'O Key's." At the sight of Dominic's name, all of my memories swarm me mercilessly. Didi wiping gobs of glitter on my face and Olivia going crazy with her makeup bag…then, I believed that I was Elvis Presley and sang my heart out to a bunch of strangers and Domeenic…Oh God. Damn, why do I have to be such a bloody idiot in front of him?

Then, this must be his place. Yes, he took me to his place last night because… Because what? I still can't remember everything, which is beginning to scare me. I'm never going to drink again. Wait… what is one reason why a man would take a tipsy woman home? I don't remember any further than the pony-Totoro fight. So, what could it be?

Oh my god. He wouldn't? Would he? He did ask me out on the same day…I'm going to kill that British twit! I'll castrate him! Yeah, I don't look like a super-freaking-model but some men will sleep with anything that breathes. How dare he take advantage of me like this? I'll worse than castrating him... I'll barbecue his ass and feed it to his grandkids. Or I'll knock his head so hard his mom's going to feel it. This conniving, little flower boy, trying to act so cute and innocent, is going to get what he deserves.

Footsteps echo in the hollow hall as I'm thinking of ways to torture Dominic that would make the writers of Saw cringe. When I come up with a plan, I swiftly duck into the covers and feign sleep. I know it is Dominic because the room is filled with a minty, coffee scent from the cologne I gave him as a prank; I told him it was for men and that it smells great even though I found it for half-off in the girl's section in Strata. And, yes, I know what that creep smells like. Shut up. Gently, a hand caresses my cheek, brushing away the strands of hair that fell across my face. Any other time it would have been cute. Now, I'm trying not to shudder.

"Wake up, my princess. I mean Corrine." What did he call me? Frustrated, Dominic mutters under his breath, "Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. What if she heard you? I'm such a sod."

He smacks his forehead, giving me an opportunity that I'm willingly to take. I might look Gumby but Dominic is no match for me. He's like a statue made of toothpicks with the disposition of a gentleman. Grabbing a hold of the fluffy pillow I had laid my head on, I scream fiercely, "Die, you bastard!"

Launching myself onto Dominic's back, knocking him flat, I smash the pillow relentlessly against his head while calling him all of the expletives I know in alphabetical order. He yells for me to stop, raising his hands above his head as his only form of defense. "Corrine, what are you doing?"

"Giving you what you deserve, you pervert! How can you just take advantage of a girl like that? Don't you have any morals?" I start listing all of the reasons I hate him, even though most are made up, lacing my sentences with barbed curses.

"Corrine, you are being very irrational, all I did was bring you into my home!"

"Lies, stop lying!"

"Lying about what, may I ask? What do you think I did? What grievous crimes have I "committed" that deserves such a severe beating?" Abruptly, he stops yelling at me when he realizes the meaning behind my words.

Finally, like a sane person, Dominic fights back. Lifting himself up, he shakes me off of his back onto the bed and grabs both of my wrists firmly, causing me to drop the flattened pillow. Both of us are out of breath and red. His face is etched with immense confusion and hurt and I begin to comprehend the fact that I do tend to jump to conclusions and that I can be such an assuming ass.

"Master Dominic! Are you okay?" Eunice, his maid, and Godfrey burst into the room like cops on a drug bust, they freeze at the sight of Dominic and me in the most compromising position ever. Dominic is hunched over my chest, clutching my outstretched wrists; my legs spread apart around his body, dangling off of the bed; and one strap of my dress hanging off of my shoulder from our struggle, revealing my bra accidentally. Super, I've managed to make Dominic look like a sex freak. Eunice bolts faster than an Olympic athlete while Godfrey blushes at the sight of us. Godfrey sighs before we can explain, "Young ones nowadays are more virile than ever. Carry on and don't make too much noise."

"It's not what it looks like! Dominic's not like that…I'm not like that, too!" Flustered, I call after Godfrey, who hurriedly closes the door. Dominic's face is red and he can't meet my eyes nor can I with him. "I'm sorry. I thought you were a creep like every guy that's shown interest in me. Not that you're interested in me, of course."

Releasing my wrists, Dominic lies down on the bed by my side. He runs his hand through his hair, covering his eyes with the other hand, sighing, "Corrine, I'm your boss. I can not complicate our relationship by shagging you. That would be stupidly reckless."

Ouch, that burns a bit, but I deserve it. I swallow the lump in my throat to keep the pain out of my voice. "I know. Sorry for ambushing you with a pillow."

"Do you always assume that any man that brings you home is a cad?"

"Just the ones that call me 'Princess.'"

"You heard that?" The embarrassment is apparent in his voice. Dominic faces me and I face him, both of us feeling the intensity radiating off of each other. "Corrine, I would like to ask you something, however, breakfast first."

"Yeah, fighting you gives me an appetite."

The plate clatters noisily on the expansively large table. Eunice practically drops the cup of orange juice on the table and refuses to look at me. Although, she delicately pours cream into Dominic's cup of coffee, stirring the cup lovingly, and sets Dominic's plate before him. Awkward is the only word appropriate for this situation. Sensing this, Eunice storms off into the kitchen leaving Dominic and me to our devices, but all we do is twiddle our thumbs and poke at our food. I stare at the neatly folded three-cheese omelet with bacon hash on the side. The aroma is delicious in its self, begging me to devour the meal set in front of me. I comply and food flies as I scarf down hungrily the eggs and bacon.

Dominic's smile is crookedly amused and he asks, "Enjoying your meal?"

Nodding, I swallow my food before I answer, "It's delicious. What does Eunice put in the omelet, crack?"

He chuckles, "If she did that would explain why she spends so much time in the basement."

"So, what did you want to talk to me about? A pay raise, hopefully?" I wink at him jokingly, trying to erase the horrifying event from this morning. He laughs unconvincingly before placing his emptied plate to the side and clearing his throat.

He faces me seriously and gives me a question that makes me spit out my food. "Corrine, do you have a home?"

"Duh, why wouldn't I have a home? You have a home, everyone has a home."

"People do not consider a motel to be a home."

How did? When did? What? Nearly biting my lip, I push the shock out of my voice. "What motel? I never mentioned a motel."

"Does yesterday ring a bell?" Humorlessly, he gazes seriously into my eyes.

Crap, when I'm drunk like a bridesmaid at a wedding I tend to spill lots of dirt, most of it coming from my garden. Faking laughter, I put my hands up defensively. "But I was wasted senseless; you can't trust what I said."

"Then, how did I find this?" He pulls out a red key with the motel's tacky barf-yellow logo.

Finally allowing myself to bit my lip, I pause to contemplate my options. I might as well be honest. "Fine, you caught me. But I can take care of myself. I'm twenty-four with a job and I'm looking for a place to live, okay, so you don't have to judge me."

"I am not judging you but you cannot possibly live in a seedy motel."

"Yes, I can."

"No, you cannot."

God, it's like we're children. Throwing up my hands irritatingly, I huff, "Okay, then, where am I supposed to live?"

"Here."

"But…"

"That's an order. You will stay here until you find a place of your own. No ifs, ands, or buts. There are plenty of rooms in my home and I can help you move everything in." The look in his eye reinforces what he has said and I give in.

"Fine, but I'm not going to live here for free. You can take some money out of my wages."

"Unacceptable, I will not take advantage of you like this."

"Well, I can't live with myself if you let me stay here for free. There must be something that I can repay you with."

"Can you teach me to dance? I saw you dancing last night very well and I would like to learn myself."

"You want to dance like a drunken hippo?" I snort skeptically.

"I would. I have never been able to dance like an inebriated animal. It is simply not in my blood." He smiles reassuringly, subconsciously telling me to take a chance that doesn't involve a dirty room with roaches. He makes it look so easy.

"Don't push your luck… Deal." Hesitantly, I reach across the long table, offering my hand. His hand is warm, as always, and for that moment, I hold on because our hands are the only things bonding us together. My heart thumps erratically. I want to do this but I'm afraid. Afraid of falling for him, afraid that if I let go, I'll lose him. And I know that if I lose him, that I'll never get him back. Oh, but how my heart beats for him.

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><p><strong>AN: Aw, even when Corrine beats the soda crackers out of Dommo he still looks out for her. In case you forgot, Read and Review please. You did the first part, the second part can't be any harder. **


	17. Taking Off the Safety Blanket

**EJK:Oh em gee! I'm so sorry, I know I'm late! But there was a AP Lang/Comp paper-**

**Corrine: Uh uh. You also know what the punishment is. (brings out her extremely heavy purse)**

**EJK: (mocking Corrine) I also know you're a drug dealing hippo! Imma Monster said so, so it must be true!**

** Corrine: Ex-squeeze me?**

**EJK:Shit. Umm... Style Savvy and any recognizable trademarks do not belong to me...(whispers) Help me. Also, since Corrine's going to be busy beating me up, Dominic will be narrating. Take it away Dommo.**

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><p>I've never noticed how intense a person's eyes can grow when one becomes stressed. Wringing her thin wrists, Corrine anxiously peers out of the window of the limo. My hand reaches over to comfort her, surprising her. A smile stretches over her mouth and she takes a hold of the hand without a single word. She moves closer to me but not enough to make Godfrey suspicious.<p>

It has only been a week with Corrine living in the mansion and Godfrey is still wary. After the whole "pillow misunderstanding/fiasco," Eunice and Godfrey watch Corrine and me with nervous caution like a team of rattlesnakes against a team of mongooses. I can only say how humiliating it is for Eunice to burst into my bathroom in the midst of my showering, searching for "towels" (which roughly translates into "Corrine").

To be honest, I feel odd having Corrine living in the room across mine; there are times when I want to tell her how I feel and there are times when I barely notice her. I have already been rejected by her but I have hope. Although, I acknowledge that the present moment is vastly inappropriate. Two days ago, the entire household could hear Corrine fighting with Myra. They both traded steely insults and held a frosty conversation. Apparently, Myra had brought over a couple of Corrine's belongings because Myra is finally moving in with her fiancée. This infuriated Corrine, who told Myra to stay out of her things. And rest of the argument had to be taken outside. Afterwards, Corrine sulkily retreated to her room, slamming the door and refusing to leave for the rest of the day. She adamantly changes the subject when it comes to the situation and I feel that she needs personal space.

"I appreciate you coming with me." Worriedly, Corrine bites of the skin around her fingernails. I try to hide my disgust but she catches on fast. She laughs humorlessly, "Sorry, it's a habit I have. It started around elementary school, when I my braces and kids picked on me for it. They would call me 'Brace Face' and ask what it feels like to attract magnets with my teeth. It made me scared to go to school and my nails were too short to bite. So, now, when I'm afraid I bite the skin on my fingers. Some people bite their fingernails; I bite the skin around mine. Sue me."

"Sorry. I could not even begin to fathom what you had gone through. I only wonder if the children at your school knew that roses always bloom. Some roses take time, but it is well worth the wait…" Rambling, I bite my tongue to stop from embarrassing myself any further.

Corrine's cheeks are tinted a rosy pink and she mumbles shyly, "Thank you. We're about here." She faces me sincerely, her dark eyes growing soft, "You really don't have to do this for me. You've already done enough and I'm grateful. If it weren't for you, I'd be living it up with rats. We're here… It's your last chance to bail."

"Screw that." The crude words felt peculiar when I spoke them but Corrine's expression glowed effervescently, reassuring me that I was understood. Her grin was toothy and genuine, dispelling my beliefs that she could have ever been called "Brace Face."

"Welcome to la casa de Corrine, let us bask in its glory." Spreading her arms out, Corrine's voice rang out with sardonic sarcasm. Grasping the fact that we left the boxes downstairs, Corrine leaves me by myself, reasoning that I would not be able to find my way back.

As I observe the room, I begin to understand that a person's room truly does reflect their personality. The room smells of refreshing mint and tart lemons with a hint of marshmallow and Sharpies. Cream painted walls are buried under peach colored bulletin boards, which themselves are smothered with doodles of women in various clothing. The women, in the sketches, are all smiling with joy and drawn in parks or cafes or often times their homes, all in loose, breezy strokes of Sharpies. A dark, cherry wood Queen Anne style desk is put in center front of the large window and has a burnished, brass sewing machine attached to it along with a matching brass foot pedal. Facing the window, a sliding closet door is pushed open to let the many piles of colorful fabric spill out, giving the image of a rainbow trickling from the sky. Dresses, whether it be fluffy or body conscious, are neatly stacked in a corner covered by crisply sewn coats and skirts. By the sewing machine, a pristine, white vanity has various polka-dotted boxes stacked on top of each other, the box on top standing over the edge precariously. Baby-blue covers swathe Corrine's bed, which is also the cozy home to her stuffed, pastel-colored animals. However, the truly revealing parts of Corrine's room are perched atop of her drawer.

Pictures placed carefully on the drawer created a sense of an idyllic childhood. A carroty, curly haired child bowled over with laugher, holding a melting Popsicle, showing off her two missing front teeth and purple-stained tongue widens the smile on my face. Then, there is Corrine in her mid-teens: skinny, long-limbed, and tan with the corners of her mouth spread out ear-to-ear wearing a satin blue dress swarmed by a group of equally tan, formally dressed, and happy girls. Another picture has her in the same blue dress hugging a handsome, solidly-built woman whom she clearly resembles; from the large smile to the bright eyes, the older woman appears to be an elderly version of Corrine with crow's feet and wrinkles around the mouth due to smiling. Beside that picture is a Polaroid of Corrine in her university days: this time it's in winter and snow was falling abundantly, she is in a burgundy sweater with the word "Harvard" printed on it with her arms around Myra's thin shoulders and a man's. The attractive man has messy shaggy auburn hair flying in front of his chlorophyll-colored eyes, thick rectangle glasses held up by the bridge of his straight nose, and a muscular, stocky build; yet, I can find the same toothy smile on him as I did on Corrine and the older woman. Picking up the thin frame, I take a look on the back of it to find a date: 5/12. Curiously, I pick up the other picture with the elderly woman and find another date, this time it says: 12/24. Before I can even start to ponder on the dates, I am interrupted by the sound of a door opening. Quickly, I place the photo in its rightful spot and straighten my clothing in an effort to appear innocent.

"Okay, I've got everything we need. So, what have you been up to? Hopefully, you weren't snooping," Corrine chuckles less sardonically.

Twenty minutes after noon, the majority of the room has been packaged thanks to Corrine's fast hands and my excellent duct-taping skills. I kid you not when it comes to my deft handiwork with the tape named after ducks. The only area left to pack is Corrine's monstrous closet filled with her clothes, handmade and bought.

"The craftsmanship in these clothing are beautiful." Holding up a pink, strapless dress with gold thread running through the delicate tulle, I complement Corrine while putting on the dress. "Although, the size of this dress is much too small for me."

"Dude, get out of there." Playfully hitting my back, Corrine falls over in laughter, clutching her stomach. "You look like an overstuffed kielbasa."

"Oh no, I think not. It is quite comfortable now that I have it over my head. And I would like think I resemble a sleek giraffe. Are you not a saleswoman?"

"Yeah, but I don't have to sell you anything that make you look like a hot dog. Now take it off before I have to do it myself." She flashes me a mockingly grave expression.

"I dare you, Miss Flynn." I counter, teasing her. Giving a mischievous smile, she leaps onto my back, clinging on.

"I'm not getting off until you surrender." Stubbornly, she hangs onto me like a koala.

"Not again!" Groaning, I attempt to shake her off while she tries to yank the dress off of my head.

We laugh at the incredulity of this situation until we lose our steam. Accidentally, I move my head back, bringing our faces closer. The dark intensity of Corrine's green irises have faded, giving her eyes their usual watery watercolor green. I can feel the breath she exhales on my lips and I want to know what her lips feel like. Confused, I abruptly push Corrine off of my back and nervously run my jittery fingers through my shaggy hair.

Blushing, I murmur, "Sorry."

Panting, Corrine throws the pink dress in my face, "Weirdo."

Ten minutes later, we are nearly complete with wrapping up the dresses when a black flyer slips out of a dress. Picking it up, I read, to myself, the glittery, obnoxious paper:

Two Weeks, All Expenses Paid Trip to Milan!

The Rising Stars Fashion Design Competition

Sponsored by Nuances

Prize: $10,000 and a Cover Feature in Nuances with the winning collection

If you have received this letter, then you are eligible to participate.

Please contact Rococo for further information.

1-xxx-xxx-xxxx

"What is this?" Holding up the paper, I ask in the midst of folding a corduroy skirt.

Distractedly, Corrine stows away a frothy blue gown into her box. "Oh, that's just this contest Rococo wants me to do. I don't think I'm going to though. I'm not good enough and Paris is too far from home. Besides, I've known Rococo since I was a child and she always does stuff like this."

"Corrine..." I know Corrine and this is that opportunity she is waiting for but something is holding her back. Her back is tense with anxiety that I only see on people that are frightened.

Placing a hand on her shoulder, I assure her, "This is what you are waiting for and you are much better than you give yourself credit for. What is holding you back?"

"…Fine, I'll tell you." She takes a deep breath, "I'm scared."

"Scared?"

"Of success and failure. If I do win, I'm scared that I won't be able to work at Strata and see Grace, my regulars, and, even, Renee. There's something different with this job. I love the people I work with and I love the job itself. And with failing, I would justify everything my parents have been telling me. I would let down my brother. That is the scariest part." Her voice breaks off and she covers her face with her hands.

Tenderly, I remove her hands from her face, holding them in mine. Her eyes are dark again but soft as I make eye contact with her. Earnestly, I tell her, "I believe in you. Do not be scared, I will always be there to support you for as long as you need me. Even then, I will keep you in my thoughts."

"Thank you."

Corrine brings her hands to my face, tracing the edge of my jaw. Firmly, she cups my cheeks and brings her face to mine. Smooth and supple. That is how her lips feel. Wrapping my arms around her waist, I deepen the kiss by pulling her in. Running her fingers through my hair, Corrine slips her tongue into my mouth, letting it mingle with mine, pleasantly surprising me. Finally, we separate to take a breath, letting ourselves savor the moment.

"So," With the toothy smile I rarely see on her face, Corrine says as we carry the last boxes to my town car, "I've been meaning to ask. Are you free anytime soon?"

"Actually, Friday is alright. I have been meaning to get my haircut but it can wait. But what for?"

Pressing her lips against mine, Corrine breathily answers, "Come on a date with me. I'll buy you cheesy flowers, take you to a cheesy Italian restaurant, and we can watch cheesy foreign films at the theater down the street. I'll be pulling out all the stops. What do you say?"

Like the Cheshire cat, I let the grin on my face stretch out even further. "Sounds splendid."

"Good. Oh wait," Suddenly, Corrine stops in her tracks. Pulling out a set of keys, Corrine explains, "I'm supposed put these on the kitchen counter. I'll be back."

"I'll be waiting." Whistling to myself, I settle down in the car cheerfully.

Godfrey looks amused, "Anything happen while I was gone between you and Miss Flynn?"

"Oh, nothing important," I casually reply.

"Dare I say, Master Dominic, you appear to be a man in love."

"I think I will not dignify that comment with an answer."

"Even after Miss de Bonne? She did break your heart. Mayhap you take a break from the marriage game for a moment."

"Sasha was different. She was using me. But with Corrine, it feels less like a game and more like an adventure. I finally found a woman that I can converse with for more than superficial trends and vacuous gossip. Corrine is better than a girlfriend because we can relate."

Warily, Godfrey warns me in a grave tone. "Yes, sir, you have. Forgive my impertinence for I rarely speak out in judgment. However, there is a stark difference between a companion and a lover. I hope you learn that difference and find a balance with Miss Flynn."

"Of course. And what have you accomplished, Godfrey, in the hour we were absent?"

"I managed to finish five works of Shakespeare. Also, minutes before you arrived with the last boxes, I saw Miss Myra Flynn and we chatted for a moment or two. She was with her parents, said she was taking them to the airport if I can recall. Pleasant couple with polite manners, a tad detached if I may say so."

"I see." Speaking through clenched teeth, I attempt to keep the malice out of my voice as I remember what Corrine has told me of them, at least the things that she was willing to tell me about.

Why on Earth would Myra accommodate these monsters if she was aware of the abuse Corrine and her brother had to endure? Is Myra denser than I thought? Then, I remembered that Corrine was upstairs in the apartment and what she had told me about her father and what he would do if he saw her again. It has already been fifth teen minutes; it only takes five minutes back-and-forth from the apartment. Urgently, I run into the apartment building and ask the clerk if he had seen Corrine at all. He tells me that he had seen a girl being dragged by a man into the garage for tenants. Sprinting towards the garage, I can hear voices arguing, echoing throughout.

"Let go of me! I'm not a child anymore. You can't make me do this! Let me go!"

"Shut up, I'm your father. You will obey me and you will do it with a smile!" Corrine's father roughly hauls Corrine to a car.

"Leave me alone! Why can't you leave me be?" Corrine screeches tearfully, her voice filled with a lifetime of repressed angst. "I have a life of my own and I'm happy, let me live it!"

"Doing what, sewing rags? Get in the car while I'm pleasant."

"I'd hate to see you happy." Laughing bitterly, Corrine sneers. Livid, Corrine's father smacks her across her face, causing Corrine to cry out. He is about to hit her again when I catch his open hand.

"That's enough of that." Coldly, I clutch his hand tightly, refusing to let go even when he violently jerks his hand.

His rugged features twist into a menacing glare. Mockingly, Corrine's father turns to Corrine. "Oh, I see. How sweet you've found yourself Prince Charming. And who are you?"

"Dominic Strata." I seethe.

Turning to Corrine, who gazes at the dirty ground, Corrine's father laughs coarsely. "It's your boss! How wonderful, does he pay you to sleep with him? Is that how you make a living by being a gold digger?"

He cracks up in laughter before entering his car. He turns on the ignition and gets ready to pull out the car. Still laughing, he scornfully scoffs, "We'll see how far you get with him until you bleed him dry and then you'll come crawling back."

Tires squealing, the car speedily races off and out of the garage as Corrine slumps onto the floor. Concerned, I rush over to her to comfort her but she shoves me aside. Whipping out her phone, she begins to dial a number.

"Corinne, let me see." I try to put my hand on her cheek but she pushes the hand aside, annoyed.

"It's nothing."

"But—"

"Shush!" Putting a finger to her lips, Corrine admonishes me. Taking a more pleasant tone, Corrine speaks into the phone, "Hello, Rococo? Yeah, it's Corrine. I miss you too. Yes. No. Never. Yes."

Sighing, Corrine cuts into Rococo's monologue, "Listen, Rococo, I think you'll be happy to hear that I'm done playing safe. Yes, that's exactly what it means. Sign me up. Love you too, bye."

Snapping the phone close, Corrine smiles and looks me straight in the eye, a fire blazing in her eyes. "How do you feel about Milan?"

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><p><strong>EJK: Finally, they kiss! It took what a bagillion chapters for any of you wussies to make a move! (In a gruff, manly voice) Hey Dominic, how do you feel about Milan? Lol,Corrine, do you think you're Clint Eastwood or something?<strong>

**Corrine: Shut up, you creep!**

**Dominic:I concur!**

**EJK: That's the only thing you can do! By the way, read and review please! You already did one half, the other can't be that hard. **

** Corrine: Seriously, EJK is addicted to reviews even critical ones, but no flaming or my purse will find you. Also, EJK loves drawing and wants to know if you want to see the drawings she drew for Satin Roses. A simple yes or no will do. Remember, R&R. **


	18. Medusa's Victim

**EJK: Hey, guys, I'm late again. My apologies but I don't have to worry this time. Corrine's kind of busy. (*points out Corrine making out with Dominic*)**

**Corrine: Yeah, yeah, shut up. **

**EJK:So, we're kind of taking a break from the whole Corrine-Dommo relationship... cuz it gets a bit tiring. This chapter we're focusing on a bit of Renee and showing a whole new light on Grace, which will pretty much be a factor in later chapters. Style Savvy and any recognizable brands/trademarks do not belong to me. BTW, thank you to my loyal reviewer, Velveteen. Read her stories, they're pretty awesome. Enjoy and R&R.**

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><p>Marshmallows smell like crap. But that's what bridal boutiques always smell like. Is it safe to say that I've been involved in too much wedding crap? The fake squeals of joy, forced hugs, and coerced complements. Why did I agree to be Grace's bridesmaid? She has twelve other squeaky besties, so why did she pick me? Sighing, I let myself sink into the hard, plastic pink benches while Grace's other friends, who are all models, talk. Renee is also here but she left for the bathroom, muttering that she couldn't breathe.<p>

"Oh maw gawd, Valerie, your Givenchy jeans are so hot!" Madison exclaims as she tugs on Valerie's arm in excitement. I want to say I hate her but I really don't; I just hate her voice.

"Maddie, what are you talking about? I love love love your Cartier earrings!" Yes, this game of complement-tennis goes on for a couple more minutes until a rustling sound comes from the dressing room. Sitting up in anticipation, we all wait for Grace, our princess, to emerge from the powder pink room.

"Are you guys ready?"

"Yes!"

"Okay," Grace's voice beams with her usual glee. Gasps can be heard from everyone in the room as Grace arrives in a cloud of frou frou pouf. The top is corseted with Swarovski crystals crusted all over, unable to contain the mounds of tulle that spill out in a waterfall of gauzy puffiness. Grace, in her size two glory, is a poorly cased sausage in the tight bustier and she has to waddle around in the fear of stepping on the delicate tulle. Reminding me of a barbecue with marshmallows and sausages, I nearly burst out laughing at the silliness of Grace's dress but I had the feeling that if I did, then, Grace's friends would chew me to bits.

"What do you think? Be honest girls."

"Love it!"

"Want it!"

"Need it!"

"Burn it." Renee's irate voice calls out, causing me to burn up with laughter. All heads turn towards Renee and my direction. Storming in, Renee looks fabulous as always wearing an Alexander McQueen plaid blouse, skintight navy trousers, and Chanel quilted stilettos. She seemed to intimidate everyone especially the models, who all gossiped about her when she left for the bathroom. "This place sucks. The bathroom for one looks like Barbie's dream house and smells like a cheap perfume exploded all over in it. Other than that, it was okay."

"Glad you approve Renee." Grace shared a glance with her friends, who all cracked up in synchronization, while I frowned momentarily at Grace's strange rudeness. "So, what do you mean 'burn it?'?"

"The dress is hideous like ghetto quinceanera hideous." This time gasps of shock resounded from the peanut gallery as Renee inspects her nails nonchalantly. A look of annoyance flashes on Grace's face one moment and dissipates the next as she giggles bubbly.

"You're too funny, Renee. I guess your right. I'll go change right now into a different one." Slightly huffily, Grace exits the tension-filled room.

"So, was that the only dress she showed so far?" Renee collapses beside me, smiling wearily. Taking off her shoes and rubbing her feet, Renee groans, "My feet are killing me."

"That's funny; since it appears to me that your manners seem to be the ones in a critical state." Folding her arms, Madison glares from across the room. Valerie and the others follow en suit.

"It appears to me that your nose is in a critical state." Since Renee and I have been friends, I noticed that she never backs down…ever. She lets her mouth go off and accepts the consequences unashamedly. The only people Renee never talks back too are Dominic and Sasha. Sometimes, she scares the crap out of me; also, the Columbian accent that comes out in Renee's voice when she's pissed scares me.

"Excuse me!" Yelping, Madison covers her nose protectively.

"What's your problem? You're so mean!" Sadie, another friend, jumps to Madison's aid.

Renee scoffed in disgust. "Puh-lease, I did not start this. Grace asked for honesty and you, wenches, weren't giving it. So, I did. If G.I. Hoe kept her mouth shut, we wouldn't be having this conversation. So stay out of it, Sadie."

"You're such a bitch! No wonder you dad disowned you!" Angrily, Sadie counters meanly. Suddenly, Sadie gasps as Renee grabs the champagne I was drinking and dumps it on Sadie's trembling body.

"Oh, dear." Gaping, I drag a sneering Renee out of the store while the other girls comfort a crying Sadie. Hurriedly, I bid my farewell, "We'll be going now. Tell Grace this was fun. Um…bye."

"Two tall caramel mochas." I order from a waiter as Renee sits indifferently.

"And a strawberry-chocolate cake." Renee adds.

The waiter leaves and I turn to Renee, calmly. "Want to explain that?"

"The bitch is jealous her boyfriend, whom I am not seeing anymore, chose me over her. So, she goes around town searching for dirt on me and trashes me whenever we meet. Also, she's jealous that all my body parts are real. By the way, what she said was true and that's all I'm saying." Picking at her chipping nail varnish, Renee speaks apathetically.

"You have a habit of taking what's not yours." I comment bluntly.

Unapologetically, Renee shrugs. "It's not my fault if those girls can't keep track of their belongings. Finders keepers, losers weepers."

"Whatever, I can't judge." Also shrugging, I retort slightly annoyed. We both lean back as the waiter gives us our orders.

Changing the subject, Renee digs into her warm, fragrant cake. "Tell me. What's up with you and Dominic? Are you guys sleeping together yet? Doing the dirty?"

"What the—what? Where did you get that idea from?" I cry out much too loudly. Shrinking back from the stares, I cover my blushing face with the lapel of my denim jacket. Hissing, I lie defensively. "There's nothing between me and Dominic. What the deuce gave you that idea?"

"Not much aside from the fact that you two get googly eyes every time you see each other. Geez." Smirking, Renee sips her steaming coffee.

The reason I'm lying to Renee is because I don't want people to think that I'm sleeping with my boss to move up in the ranks. Not that Renee would assume that but she has a pretty big mouth as you can see from moments before. Besides, I've seen tabloids of Sasha and Dominic together and it is pretty unsavory; Sasha has been called everything from gold-digging tramp to attention seeking socialite. Then, there are the paparazzi photos of the two of them "shopping" for groceries and "relaxing" at the beach. It is pretty bad, so bad that Dominic and I agreed to keep it low key and reveal our relationship after the Milan contest. Besides, I wouldn't want my relationship to overshadow my designs in the contest.

"I don't know how you can breathe in the same space as Dominic. If it were me, I'd jump him in his sleep." Renee cackles as I spew out the hot coffee in shock. People stare again as I cover my face again in my jacket and shrink into my seat even further.

"Renee, please, shut up. You are so incorrigible. And I do not get 'googly' eyes around him!" I whisper angrily.

"Yeah, yeah, so what have you been working on for the contest?"

"Oh," Pulling out sheets of crumpled papers, I hand over the designs to Renee, who acts as my mentor.

"Mmm, number one and two are burnable but five and ten are definitely winners."

"Thanks," Wincing slightly, I rip up the ones Renee dubbed "burnable" and carefully pocket the "winners." I know, why am I taking advice from a girl, who once hated my guts? But I'm allowed a personal assistant, who comes backstage with me, and two guests, who watch, for the contest; Dominic is sweet and all but that's the problem, I need someone who will cut the crap and tell it to me straight. So, I asked the bluntest bitch I know and she accepted. "Now, I need three more designs. Any ideas?"

"Sorry, that's why I'm the assistant."

"Brilliant."

"So, are you taking Dominic on a date this Friday?"

"Yeah, I am." I let it slip. Yelping, I defend myself, "No! That's not what I meant! We're not dating."

"Too easy." Renee teases.

"Please don't tell anyone." I explain to Renee my reasoning.

"Fine, but I don't get what you mean. Well then, you should get something nice for Dominic since it's his birthday on Friday."

"How do you know?"

"I kind of stalked him on the internet…"

"What!" I hiss, more cautious of my volume. "Does he know this? Also, what the freak are you doing stalking him on the internet!"

"Hey, I was bored and, besides, it doesn't hurt to be a kiss ass. Plus, Dominic and I used to go to the same boarding school and in those five years I knew zilch about his life. So, I consider this a small victory."

My eyes widen in surprise. What is it with hot men being mysterious? Shit, I was planning on being really lazy and getting Netflix. In fact, the only work I was planning on doing was making caramel popcorn. Hmm…so what to do?

"Is that why he gave you a job?"

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, you guys know each other for years and your dad disowns you…"

"It's half true. Personally, I can't talk about it so let's not." She cuts me off with a glare, causing me to frown.

Renee's eyes waver momentarily and I remember that she's not made of stone. Renee's actually more human than most girls I know. I was really rude to her when we first met but I can see that I was wrong to act that way. Earnestly, I reach across the table to clutch her hand and I squeeze it tightly. "Renee, I'm not in a position to judge. I don't think I'll ever be. If you want to talk to me that is fine."

"Thank you. I promise that I'll tell you everything but not now. Now, we have to plan your special date with our scorching hot boss." Renee lets her stone exterior melt away and she smiles with honest happiness. I guess you can bring life to stone.

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><p><strong>EJK: I know this chapter was so short! Regular Renee is pretty much a bad ass. Don't get on her bad side or she could cut you. And, yes, Renee threatened me in Spanish to say this. Also, Renee's dad will come up in later chapters and be pretty important later. R&amp;R please but no flames or Renee and Corrine will come for you and, trust me, they will find you. <strong>


	19. Grace's Secret Does Not Involve Panties

**EJK: 'Sup, peeps? God, this is ridiculous. Why do I have to talk like fourth grader?**

** Corrine: Cause I said so.  
><strong>

**Renee: Duh, bitch. Now, dance for us.  
><strong>

**EJK: Renee, do you call everyone bitch or is that the only word you know?**

**Renee: Read between the lines, bitch. (sticks up the bird, followed by a gang sign)**

**EJK: What lines? (*starts to scream as Renee chases after)**

**Corrine: What a bunch of kids. We'd like to thank Velveteen again for being such a loyal reviewer. Come on guys, how can it be to hard to give your opinion? Also, disclaimer: EJK does not own Style Savvy or any trademarks/brands. Enjoy.**

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><p>"Bleh, everything looks crappier when you're hung over." Renee groans as she raises her hand to shield herself from the blinding sunlight. Sipping an iced mocha on a brisk spring morning, Renee pushes up her Prada sunglasses against her unmade bob. Her plum lips grimace as she criticizes the Star Wars bean bags I brought up. "God, I've known Dominic for five years but I had no idea he was a gigantic nerd. Seriously, Star Wars? Why not at least something hipster, like Sesame Street?"<p>

"Hey, at least, Dominic doesn't have a shrine made for Isabella Blow made out of decorative hats like a certain someone. And if Dominic was interested with Sesame Street, I'm pretty the police would be monitoring him twenty-four/seven." I say defensively in the midst of inspecting Dominic's gift. The gift is pretty old but in great condition, probably able to fetch a hefty price on eBay.

Why Star Wars? Turns out since he was a child, Dominic fell in love with the epic odyssey filled with Ewoks, Yoda, and the Skywalker family. He hid it well until I stumbled into his room to find a comforter on his bed covered in Millennium Falcons and pillows decorated with Yoda and his gibberish sayings. I spent thirty minutes rolled up in the fetal position laughing my ass off to Dominic's embarrassment, though he was pretty tolerant. I'm kind of a Star Wars nerd myself, so, I understood and I showed him the Princess Leia dress (not bikini, weirdos), that I made for one Halloween when my parents refused to buy it for me, to make us even. I truly understood his love for the franchise when he revealed his authentic Storm Trooper costume complete with an actual helmet from the movie set and prop gun; it reminded me of my brother, who was also enamored by Star Wars. So, what a better way to celebrate a person's birthday with things that the special person loves? That's all I'm saying, no amount of bacon cookies can persuade me into saying anything more.

"Ooh, what did you get? Gimme!" Renee paws at me for the gray-pinstriped box containing Dominic's present.

"No way," Playfully, I cradle the box as I fend off Renee, sticking out my tongue, "You'd probably make fun of me. Call me a dork and mess around with it. So, meh."

"Fine, bitch, you can be such a wet blanket."

"And you can be such a witch, bitch." I retort.

Laughing, Renee slurps her cold coffee as she gives me the New York onceover; the New York onceover is basically a critical observation in which a person observes what style you are wearing, what brands, and how much you spent on them. When you're being once over-ed, it's about as fun as getting a Brazilian, which Renee forced me into a few days ago; I couldn't walk for a day without limping. Renee is the queen of the onceover and went as far as to offer people money to buy new clothes and sometimes the clothes off of her back.

"Is that what you're wearing?" Renee's face twists into a pucker as she takes in my chunky, oversized black sweater with Storm Trooper helmets printed all over and my pair of denim cutoffs peeking underneath, the leopard printed creepers didn't help either.

"I look decent."

"Decent? Remember this is your scorching boss. You can't just saunter in your date with a sweater. That's just sloppy." Renee's face contorts into an image of horror; her heavily lined eyes twitch simultaneously and her lips hang open slack jawed to emphasis the urgency of her point.

Trying to hide my laughter, I scoff at Renee's comments, "So, what do you suppose I do? I already said I'd be out for the day until the date, I can't just walk in like ''sup' without making it awkward."

"Girl, this is New York, the city of dreams. If they have dreams, I'm pretty sure they have clothes." Without another word, Renee drags me out before I could even say "May the force be with you."

Did I ever mention that I hate Victoria's Secret? Well, I do. The smug flawless "angels" pouting in lingerie that their fathers would be ashamed to see, frilly colorful thongs that perfect the balance between being mind bendingly itching and covering private bits, ten different types of push-up bras creeps me out. I'm pretty modest when it comes to my undergarments, as long as they're clean and not wedgie-inducing, I'm fine. The delicate aroma of roses and lavender choke me slowly, the wave of desperate teenagers flocking the sales racks flash by me in a dizzying blur, and Renee relentlessly heaving my lanky body through the heavy atmosphere. If I didn't have claustrophobia then, I have it now.

"So cute!" Waving a powder blue lace bra made of two thin triangles of fabric and string, Renee gushes with so much believable enthusiasm. "Look this one had little teddy bears all over."

"Right, because it's attractive to have little animals running all over your bits."

"Shut up and have some please, WB."

"WB?"

"Wet Blanket, biznatch."

"Years of fancy boarding room academy and the only words in your vocabulary are the ones that are supposed to be banned."

"I know, right, I'm the life of the freaking party. What about this? Do I look gorge?" Holding up a see through magenta slip against her chest, Renee mockingly poses as one of the models, hips jutting out, lips pouting, and a hand on one hip. I crack up at the sight of Renee pulling a wry face in her pose. I crack up so much; I bump into a clearance rack, which ends up crashing into another rack and so on so forth until the last one knocks down a line of girls like dominoes. Covering my eyes, I cannot bear the horror I'm facing while Renee takes a turn laughing her butt off.

"Sorry!" I apologize as the manager walks up to me. When I see who it is I gasp in horror.

Tooth Decay Derry storms his way through the sea of girls to confront me. His breath still smells like curdling rotten eggs. "Corrine Flynn, why am I not surprised?"

"You're the manager?"

"Yes, Miss de Bonne found my service unsatisfactory one day and here I am."

"I'm shocked." I'm tempted to ask him how it feels to be smacked back in the face but he looks so small and pitiful; I find it hard to insult him. Must suck to go home smelling like perfume and seeing panties everyday that belong to girls out of your league, it doesn't justify his cowardly actions but it makes me realize I'm not angry with him anymore. He hadn't ruined my life, he turned it around. I would have never met Dominic or have a job I love if the midget didn't fire me.

"Back at your usual business of inexplicable clumsiness?" He weakly asks in his usual belligerent tone.

"Thank you," Giving him my most friendly smile, I shake his hand.

"Why? I fired you, ruined your life. I took your only job." sputters he, bewildered.

"Actually, you turned it around in the most curious and wonderful circumstances. So, you have my thanks, without you I'd still be a waitress at a fake Italian restaurant with a dead end future." I explain as Renee takes the opportunity to escape and pulls me along with her. "By the way, I always wanted to give you something."

"Yes?" He opens his hands uncertainly.

Dropping a Tic Tac in his palms, I laugh, "Take a Tic Tac for Pete's sake!"

I feel like a feather, lighter than air. Sadly enough, I guess seeing a former boss humbled is a great stress reliever. Skipping, I spoon in cold bites of mango fro-yo. Renee and I decide to hide in a Top Shop while we wait for the security to give up and go back to eating donuts. The two portly guards were so winded, they gave up a bit when Renee and I went into a Pink Berry. Setting her green tea frozen yogurt down on a display, Renee puts a pair of tortoise shell sunglasses on my face and nods in disappointment.

"Cute."

Pushing back the glasses against my hair, I ask, "Thanks, you've said that for everything I tried on. Is 'cute' supposed to mean something?"

"Yeah, it's the worst on a scale of hot. You have cute, tolerably warm, uncomfortably warm, hot, sweltering hot, and scorching hot. What about this?"

Pushing away the blue latex mini dress, I frown, "How about I shop for myself and you can review?"

"Fine."

"I'll meet you at the shoes in thirty minutes."

"Is that a challenge?"

"Without a doubt."

Without another word, the two of us set off in different directions, no longer friends but sartorial rivals. I start on the second floor and take the escalator when I spot someone familiar in front of me. With unmistakable maroon hair, Grace is laughing hysterically. Strangely, her model posse is no where to be seen; her only companion being a muscular, broad backed man who Renee would call "scorching hot." The two of them are holding hands casually to my shock, but I don't judge because, hey, the guy could be a gay friend that's grabby. Obviously, that's when the "gay" friend leans in and full-on makes out (like he's eating her face) with Grace, which she doesn't fight back. After their lips part hesitantly, Grace giggles like a school girl and leans her head against the guy's thick arms.

What…Wha-… WHAT! My mind reels as I remember Joe, oh, poor Joe. After that whole "party" mess, I can't help feel bad for him; last time I saw him, he aged ten years, losing that boyish spark I lusted after in my adolescence. Dear lord, does he even know? I made him feel like shit for months and he's not even the bad guy. He's the poor clueless schmuck.

Casually, I remember the shades still on my head and put them on my eyes. Getting off the escalator, I search for that bitch's maroon-haired head, finding her in the lingerie section. Blech, what is it with girls and lingerie? Is regular underwear not even enough that you need lace on your crotch in order to feel good about yourself? Creeping towards the aisle, I pretend to rifle through a rack of stringy thongs that I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. Not even Tooth Decay Derry, actually, especially not on him. Grace hasn't noticed me or at least she doesn't look like she did. Sexily, she holds a silk nightie against her protruding chest and bites her lip.

"What about this?" she purrs to my disgust.

Bringing her in closer to him, the man growls, "I can't wait to rip it off of you."

Laughing, Grace puts it away, commenting dryly, "I should buy something cheap then."

Boiling in rage, I wish I could smash in her dumb face; sure, she's my friend but so was Joe. I reason to myself, maybe it's a role that they're practicing for? _Yeah, the play called "Grace is a Cheating Whore_." I'm mumbling to myself so loudly that Grace looks over in my direction, scaring the lights out of me. Without a single peep, I duck down and hide into a rack, praying that she didn't see me. To my dismay, I hear the tinkling sounds of Grace's bangles clacking together coming my way. Curling up into a ball, I huddle into the center of the rotating rack of granny nightgowns. I see her rosy pink kitten heels tap in concentration right in front of me; she's so close, I'm choked by the overpowering scent of too much Chanel No. 5. Her boy toy comes over and asks in a worried tone.

"Anything wrong, babe?"

"No, it's just that I thought I saw someone I recognized. It was just too weird. Jesus, I can't stay here with you, what was I thinking? If anyone even catches a hint of this, I'm dead. We have to leave, separately."

"It's okay," his voice softens, "I'll still love you no matter what happens."

"Victor…I don't think I'll ever stop loving you." She whispers back.

Peeking through the cracks made by the dresses, I can see Grace in a firm embrace with a look on her face I've never seen: sadness and regret; like she knows that she'll never be married to the one she truly loves. She doesn't love Joe. God, Joe has no idea and Grace doesn't have the guts to give him the idea. It's sickening to stomach; their love is like a rose, beautiful and healthy when you at first glance at it but hideous and thorny when you try to touch only to have your fingers pricked. Walking away from the racks, I see the two of them no longer bubbly and despicably close. They walk side by side with their hands to their sides, hanging next to each other but afraid to touch.

After the whole scene, I sit with my back slumped against the fitting room wall. I can't breath. It's so horrifying, the concept of being so close to the one you love but a barrier always cuts the two of you off. One touch sends the two of you into paradise only to have it ripped away by the reality that the two of you don't belong together in the real world. I try to think, of anything. Of Grandma Ann, of Dan, of Renee, of Didi, of Libby, of Olivia, of Godfrey, even of Eunice, but most of all I think of Dominic. I've known him for six months and counting. He's my boss, he gave me hope, and he gave me life. He's given me love. Thinking of his British accent, his unbridled laughter, his amused eyes, his pursed lips suppressing his grin, the way he becomes unreasonably defensive over rugby and BBC, the time he held me and told me angels shouldn't cry, the way he knew I needed him after seeing my parents. It helps me breathe. Flipping open my phone, I text Dominic three simple words.

_I love you._

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><p><strong>EJK: See, there are two sides to Grace. Hope you enjoyed because it's might be the last one I write for awhile. Lately, I've been feeling discouraged by the lack of response and I've decided to take a break from the story and focus on my other stories but I am truly grateful to the writers who did review. I seem pathetic in doing this but I feel that I need to step back and focus on other things, so I won't be updating as much. I'll never forget those who have appreciated my work. Thanks.<br>**


	20. Fight Night

**EJK: I'm back! **

**Corrine: Yeah, after you whined for a week.**

**EJK: Someday Corrine... someday...**

**Corrine: Anyway, thanks to those who comforted this little crybaby and sent some encouraging messages. Imma Monster, Peppermint Wings, JacobxBella, and Hunter Kathleen. We appreciate it. **

**EJK: Also, I'm working on a new Style Savvy story so watch out for that onto Dominic with the boring stuff.**

**Dominic: Disclaimer, EJK does not own Style Savvy or any recognizable brands and trademarks. **

**EJK: On with the story, this time it's Dommo's turn!**

**Dominic: Call me that one more time and I will -**

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><p>March third. The day I was born, forcibly brought into this unholy world. This should be a happy day but I don't think I will be able to enjoy it until the day I die. Three years ago on this day, I had endured the most painful experience. It took years to move on and I am not going to spoil the best thing I have at the moment. Perhaps, if I did not think too deeply or too solemnly on this matter, I may be able to enjoy myself. However, for the time being I no longer wish to celebrate the day I was born.<p>

This morning was relatively casual, even though I woke up with a violent cough but I took cough drops to inhibit them, chalking them up to a minor cold. Per usual, I ate my breakfast of eggs benedict and orange juice as usual with Corrine at the table doing the same, although she rushed out of the house quite hurriedly, claiming to go shopping with Renee for our date. I had no right to suspect that she knew about my birthday since I threatened to burn all of Godfrey's Doctor Who memorabilia and Eunice's needle point works of kittens if it was spread out that today was my special day; luckily, no one else outside of the family knows of my birthday, not even Renee or Grace. I know keeping secrets from Corrine is as wise as playing with a gun but I can not bear to tell her the truth yet. Someday I will reveal to her my secrets, but not today. Coughing again, I quickly regain my composure as I push through the heavy wooden doors of the boardroom.

"Dominic, welcome!" My father's closest advisor, Orson Hart, booms. A stocky, hearty man with the stomach of an ox and a disposition friendlier than a bunny, Orson was a dear friend and the most dependable Chief Financial Officer on the board. "Cigar, my boy?"

"No thank you, Orson. Shall we get to business?" My suggestion is met by jovial cheers as I take my seat as the Chairman. The next hour buzzes by with healthy debate and intriguing ideas, some rejected and others accepted for further execution. However, the meeting takes a turn for the interesting when Roger Kane, the Chief Commercial Officer, brings up the idea of expansion.

Roger was a charming man with ideals of the American dream, being well spoken only helped his case. "Strata is doing quite well for a start up corporation but we need to spread out further. With our annual revenue already surpassing last year's, I believe that the time for spreading out across the country is now. We have the money and I predict that profits will rise by ten percent. We could start by branching out into the Midwest and open a few outlets or expanding the stores in New York, Paris, Tokyo, and Los Angeles. I also had an idea of promoting the stylists with the highest amount of sales as managers for the new stores. It would be an incentive for those who worked hard and be a motive for others to work harder."

"I think you are onto something, Roger. I want you to write up a full report on it and present it to the branches." Coughing roughly, I agreed wholeheartedly, raising my hand up to interrupt the excited directors.

Murmurs of approval filled the room as Roger, the only other director as young as I, beamed at me. Folding my arms, I sat back in my chair as the other directors commented and asked him to elaborate. The meeting soon ended with firm handshakes of good will and promises of fulfilling one's duties.

"Thank you, Dominic." Roger shake my hand as we both walk towards the elevator. Entering into the clean, reflective silver elevator, Roger comments to my frustration as my brother-in-law, "Sabina sent you a present. Also, Mara did too; I'm not allowed to say what though. They both wish you a happy birthday. Sabina also plans on visiting next month, claiming that she wants our baby to be born in America so that he, as she obstinately believes the baby's gender is, can become president sometime in the future. She has a bit of cabin fever and tends to act batty nowadays but she's still my angel."

"That sounds lovely, Roger, but is there anyway to convince her otherwise?" Silently praying that my insane, hormonal sister has a change of heart and finds America to be deplorable once again, staying away from me as far as possible. Mara is just as annoyed by our pregnant sister's antics as I am; last week, Mara had to eat ground up food because Sabina wanted to experience what baby food tasted like, from a second hand account, of course. Just yesterday, Mara called begging me to allow her to stay over for spring vacation.

"Sorry, you know how stubborn a Strata woman gets especially if you say no."

"Brilliant, so I will have a crazed, manic, over-the-top Sabina in my mansion for how long?"

"Maybe a few weeks or so, the doctor predicts that the baby will be born by the end of March. She'll also be at the Cain-Wright wedding, since it was bumped up to April Tenth, as a guest, so two extra days."

At the news of Grace and Joseph's wedding date change, I groaned, "Blimey, they moved up the wedding again?"

"Apparently, the bride's mother pulled a couple strings and got a place in the Hampton. I'll tell you, the most fashionable people are also the most indecisive." Laughing at his own revelation, Roger grinned charmingly leading me to believe that everything will be alright despite my sisters. Clutching my chest, I feel myself shaking as I cough even more aggressively than before. Wincing, Roger commented before we parted ways, "You sound terrible, like the crypt keeper with emphysema. You should check that out before it gets a chance to become even worse."

Chuckling at his terrible joke, I take the wrapping off of another cough drop and put it in my mouth. Who needs doctors when you have lemon-honey Riccola?

I know now who needs a doctor: I do. It was lunchtime when I received a curious text message from Corrine and nearly slid out of my chair. _I love you._ Three simple words have the power to knock me out of my seat. What do I say? How should I respond? At first, I could not say anything not because I was speechless but because I choked on my egg salad, I responded by flailing my arms around. After taking notice, a waiter performed the Heimlich maneuver on me until a solid chunk of ham flew out of my mouth. Interest faded minutes later as I asked for the check and rushed out as fast as I could.

Walking down the street, I felt waves of confusion rollicking over me, knocking me off balance, nearly drowning me. _First, she is the one who insisted on hiding our relationship. Second, she is the one who deliberately shoved me in the janitor's closet when Grace nearly caught us snogging. Third, she is the one who doesn't want distractions… _My mind felt more scrambled than scrambled eggs, not a good analogy but Corrine enjoys it when I say terribly cheesy things. Now that I think about it, Corrine always smiles at the things I have to say no matter how foolish they sound, she understands when I need time alone, and she never nags me into being emotional. She's very secure about our relationship even if it has only been a month. For once, I am frustrated by this; with other women, they always begged me to talk about our relationship even when I had nothing good to say. Corrine has this knack for shocking me like no other. They were pleasant shocks of course. If I had to be honest, I am in love with Corrine too. Right now, the moment feels dull and murky without her presence as if I am stuck in an aquarium filled with sewage. Suddenly, it dawns on me that not only do I love her but I forgot to reply. Cursing, I clumsily text back what I truly feel without any false courtesy that I often employ in everyday life.

_I love you too._

Pocketing away my Blackberry, I enter Alvarado, a high end shop most of my coworkers frequent for gifts whether it is wife-related or mistress-related. The last time I came here for a suit, I had spotted an item that captured my interest right away. I had not bought it for I was unsure of my place with Corrine but now that I know, I feel so much more relaxed. Walking over to the mannequin, I cannot help but to stare at its beauty. An elaborate waterfall of champagne pink dotted with seed pearls, the delicate netlike scarf wraps snugly around the mannequin's slender neck, spilling over the torso gracefully. The blush color would only complement Corrine's creamy skin and the pearls only add to the sixties Audrey Hepburn elegance she possesses. After I ask an employee I've been fairly acquainted with for the scarf, my thoughts of Corrine are interrupted by the most familiar and most cruel voice.

"Nicky?" That horrid nickname, how happy I have been without hearing it. And her accent. Her accent that was more Italian than New York and her olive skin was more exotic than her accent. Feeling out of breath, I can only utter her name.

"Bella."

"It's lovely to see you again, Nicky." She enthuses warmly as if we were old friends. Hesitantly, Bella leans in to embrace me as I extend my hand in a handshake. We attempt to rectify the situation with her trying to shake my hand and my trying to hug her. We settle on an uncomfortable fist bump.

"Always smooth, we were." Bella laughs, her husky laughter bouncing inside my mind.

Out of nowhere, the salesgirl appears with the scarf boxed in a polished black box. She holds it out, curiously observing Bella. "Mr. Strata, you wanted your scarf? Is the girlfriend you have spoken so much of? She's as beautiful as you have said."

Simultaneously, Bella and I adamantly deny any relations with each other.

"Not at all!"

"Of course not! Whatever gave you the idea?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I saw the two of you guys hugging and I just assumed…sorry?" Shrinking away, the salesgirl scurries out of our sight. The tension weighs even more heavily on Bella and me as we straighten ourselves, too embarrassed to say a thing.

"What brings you to New York? Was Milan too calm for you?" I ask out politeness. There really is nothing else for us to say.

"Actually, it was." Chuckling, Bella smiles charmingly, "I came over to New York because my father offered me a job as a head of the creative department. It's an easy job and I'm allowed to play hooky as the trust fund baby. I hear Strata is doing great despite the recession. And you have a girlfriend?"

"Yes to both…" Shuffling my feet, I cannot bear to look her in the eyes and face her. Even after all this time, I'm astounded by Bella's beauty as most are. My odd cough returns and I wince as my chest is stabbed with sharp pangs.

"Ooh, you should get that checked out. You sound like you're on your deathbed. Nicky, I'd love to chat but I can only play hooky for so long… I'll call you." Her smile falters for a moment as she eyes the scarf I forgot I was holding. "You were always great with gifts. I'm pretty sure your girlfriend will love it. I wish you well and I hope to see you again. Ciao."

"Ciao…" My eyes linger on her as she walks away, forgetting the reason I was there in the first place. Minutes later the salesgirl returns and nudges my fixated body in concern, snapping me out of a Bella-induced stupor. After I assure her I am fine, I stare at the pretty, frail scarf stored in the sturdy closed off box, reminding me of Corrine's disposition. The two were on opposite ends of the spectrum in terms of appearance, and personality. Sure enough, the same waves of confusion torment me again as I gaze lovingly at the thought of Corrine and her bright, grateful smile, while thoughts of the past with Bella invade my mind. I should not be doing this; making comparisons of two completely different women, one of whom I am still involved with and love. I have to block her out. Making my choice, I purchase the scarf as I lock out further thoughts of my ex-wife of three years. Deep down, I have a feeling that I might need more than Riccola for this situation.

_Change of plans. Date night plans going to change a bit. If you don't like it, you'll have to suck it up. :p Meet me at the top of LAYERS at six. If that doesn't sound familiar, then you don't know yourself as well as you think. _

Sometimes Corrine can be maddening. It was thirty minutes later when she sent me a cryptic message. With a cheeky emoticon no less. Taking a seat on a bus bench, I sat there thinking. Layers? What do layers have to do with me? What do _I_ have to do with layers? Losing patience, I spend the next ten minutes in blind frustration, looking crazed. Checking my watch, I groaned as the minute hand struck five-thirty. Kicking a pile of newspapers, I rack my brain, begging myself to remember any place named Layers.

"Jesus, Dominic!" A voice exclaims. The voice is even more familiar than Bella's and even more cringe-inducing. Felicity Jones in her blond, voluptuous glory smirked at the pile of newspapers under my foot. "I know you hate the tabloids but do you have to take it out on the New York Times?"

"Ugh, please leave me alone." Covering my face, I moan, desperately hoping the woman who has unapologetically ruined so many of my relationships and my life would walk by. A click sounds before I'm momentarily blinded by the bright flash from her lackey's camera. Libby Smyth, Godfrey's granddaughter, grins as she looks over the picture.

"Not bad. Hey, Dominic, can you lift your foot up and frown for the camera? Like a WWE wrestler frown, not your usual Disney Prince frown. Yeah, like that…Oh, that's your usual frown isn't it?"

"Is that not obvious? Actually, I cannot frown for you, Libby, and I have half a mind to tell Godfrey what his beloved granddaughter is doing at the moment."

"Fine." Sulking, Libby stows away her camera in defeat, knowing how much Godfrey despised tabloids.

"So, what's the deal? Got another gal pal who wants you to buy out Tiffany's?" Felicity casually brushes her hair over her shoulders, oblivious to the fact I want to strangle her.

Sighing, I answer honestly, only pretending that Corrine was a male, because that is what Felicity hates the most. "A friend of mine, a male friend, wants to meet at someplace called Layers. I cannot make heads or tails of it."

Showing her the text message, I watch her confusedly as Felicity bursts out laughing. "God, your friend texts like a girl. But I totally get what he means."

"Can you please divulge this hidden information to me?"

"Remember my first article I wrote on you? The one that got top billing in the Global Stars?"

"Unfortunately, yes, Dominic Strata: Man of Many Layers. You wrote particularly unsavory things about my love life. Now, what does that have to do with me?"

"Um, the title is a play on your name. Strata is plural for stratum and stratum means layer…get my point?"

As the truth dawns on me, I smack my forehead, "Of course. I am a fool."

"What tipped you off?" Felicity remarks.

"Thanks, Felicity, I owe you one."

"Cool, how about I interview you later then? You spill a bit about your latest girl toy?"

"I will never owe you that much." Quickly, I rush off in the direction of Strata, the place that started it all.

I did not know what to expect. I guess I expected to have a regular date complete with dinner and a movie. Or maybe I expected Corrine to be wearing a ball gown or to be an axe murderer. What I do know that I did not expect to see this.

"Surprise." Corrine smiles as she pops a tiny container filled with multicolored streamers. I stare like an idiot as I see what she did.

Everywhere there were fairy lights strung up, illuminating the normally dark, gritty roof. Roof, itself, has been swept and has a large rug covering the majority of the floor. There is a small table set up with my favorites: sticky caramel popcorn, warm apple cider, frosted cinnamon buns, and Nutella sandwiches. Yes, I like Nutella sandwiches. Stop laughing. There is a large white screen set up across from a projector with a stack of old Star Wars movies on the side and bean bags lying in front of the projector. There are Star Wars references everywhere, from the beanbags which are in the shapes of Storm Troopers to the rug which has the movie poster for The Empire Strikes Back printed on it to the fairy lights which are little Darth Vader helmets. Normally any sane adult would laugh at the childlike atmosphere but I am at a loss for words. In fact, I think I am tearing up a bit.

"Are you crying?" Corrine does not laugh but she caresses my cheek. "God, I've never made a grown man cry before."

"I am not crying." Annoyed, I swiftly turn away and blink back my tears. When have I lost my self control?

"Here, have some cider. It'll help clear your throat up." She hands me a warm cup of the elixir which I accept readily. Plopping down on a bean bag, she holds up the disks. "What do you want to watch?"

"A New Hope please."

"Cool."

She inserts the disk into a small machine attached to the projector and takes her seat. Wordlessly, we watch the movie in intense concentration like the avid fans we are. Occasionally, we would take a bite of our sandwiches and pass the popcorn over. As the movie continues to roll, I look over to find Corrine watching the screen in childlike wonder as if she were blissfully unaware of the reality of her life. She catches me and raises an eyebrow. She looks stunning wearing a light, cream colored dress that drifts subtly along with the wind under a plaid blazer. Her reddish brown hair was casually tied up in two braided buns in the style of Princess Leia and her face was makeup free, the way I like her best.

"What? Like what you see?" Corrine jokes as she puckers her face.

"I have always had a thing for princesses." My hand plays around with her hair until Corrine swats it away.

"Easy there, tiger. It's just hair. By the way," turning to her side, Corrine lifts a large box up and over onto my lap. "Happy birthday."

"How did…who said…pardon?"

My face must have looked worse than I felt because Corrine explains defensively. "Relax. I had no idea until Renee spilled a few days ago. She mentioned something about the internet. Why is it such a big deal that I don't know, anyway?"

Ignoring her, I open the box and gape at the sight of my gift, the original Boba Fett helmet from the movie. "Impossible."

"Yeah, I know. It was my brother's but he would have wanted a true fan to keep it." Corrine smiles as she watches me play around with it. "He found it on eBay years ago and he had to fight some dweeb from the United Kingdom for it."

"Interestingly enough, years ago I found a Boba Fett helmet online too. I tried to place a bid on it but some prick from America won it instead." Corrine and I stare at each other for a moment and start to laugh at how ridiculous it sounded.

"Here," remembering the gift I had bought for Corrine, I hand her the box.

"It's beautiful." She whispered in awe. I helped her loop the scarf around her neck as she ran her hand over the delicate fabric. "Thank you."

"No, I should be thanking you. No one has ever done this for me. Even as a child, I rarely had birthdays celebrated with friends and they were about as fun as a root canal. It was always complete strangers whose parents had an agenda."

"Is that why you keep your birthday a secret?"

I had considered lying to her but I knew secrets like this would only ruin our relationship. I decided to admit the truth to Corrine, "Three years ago, my wife divorced me. She did not love me enough to move to New York. It was a quick but painful one and I will always remember that the day we ended our marriage was on my birthday. I'm sorry for keeping this from you."

"Wow, that's a bit to swallow."

"That is what she said. Sorry."

Chuckling, Corrine plays around with the scarf. "Don't be. I was in love with Joe for years but he never was attracted to me in anyway. I never wanted you to find out but I guess some cats have to let out of the bag. I do have to say it feels great getting that off my chest."

She leans over and presses her lips against mine. In astonishment, I push her away. "Wait, you were in love with Joseph? As in the engaged Joseph, the one who's wedding you are a bridesmaid for? That Joseph?"

Corrine raises her eyebrow again but this time I find it irksome. "Yes, that Joseph. No need to sound judgmental. I'm not in love with him anymore so why does it matter?"

"I am not being judgmental." I say through my clenched teeth. "I just find it amusing that you have kept this hidden for so long. I mean for Christ's sake, I am friends with him! I am his best man! How could you not have at least told me?"

"It's not your business! And really, is that the card you're playing with? Because I could say the same thing about your ex-wife, Mr. Rochester. How long were you planning on keeping her in the closet? Or were you just going to keep her in there and hope I'll never find out?"

"Are you sure you weren't going to ask Renee to snoop for you? Maybe I should enlist her into finding out if you were in love with any of my other friends."

"Oh my god, I've known jealously for the better part of my life and right now you are full of it." Frustrated, Corrine jumps up and grabs her bag. Glaring at me, she retorts, "I just wanted to do something nice for you but if you can't appreciate that then you have issues. You can be such a child!"

"Yeah, well you can just bugger off!" I hear myself yelling uncharacteristically. We both open our eyes in shock and no one says a word. Internally, I know what I just said was not how I felt but externally, that was how I came off as.

Corrine glared at me. "I can't believe I' m in love with you."

Opening the door, Corrine steps back as Libby and Felicity fall out. Shit, they must have followed me all the way here, knowing that I am a horrible liar. Felicity loses no time in shamelessly asking Corrine a barrage of insulting questions as Libby takes a few photos of Corrine's face etched with hurt. Corrine looks back at me in confusion. She shoves them aside as she runs out of out Strata. I can only pray that she is not doing the same with my life.

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><p><strong>EJK: Uh oh, looks like the love birds are no longer in paradise. Dun dun dun. Is this the end? Read and review!<strong>

**Corrine: Way to kill the mood weirdo. Please review or else EJK might go off in another one of her fits, besides the review button's a bit of a masochist so it'll like that.**


	21. War of Bridezillas

**EJK:I know, I'm late. I've just been a contradiction lately. I'm uninspired with Satin Roses and inspired with my other projects, and I'm sorry. It's not an excuse, just a half baked explanation. I already know how the story is going to go but I've been neglecting the fire I have for this story...**

** Corrine:You think I'm a wet blanket...Anyway, friendly pms are welcomed and please don't feel that this story is going to die off. I'm sure that it'll return to it's normal status with college applications nearly out of the way. **

** EJK:Yeah, I'll be a bit off of my once-per-week schedule for a bit but hang in there with me. Now, to the boring stuff, Dommo?**

**Dominic: EJK doesn't own Style Savvy or any recognizable brands and trademarks. Wait a minute, if she doesn't own me, what am I doing here?**

**Corrine: Shh, young one. The less you know... ERRS, please. Enjoy, read, review stupid.**

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><p>Christ, this is getting to me. The stage whispers, the "furtive" pointing, and most of all, the burning stares. I will kill that Felicity Jones and that dumb blond smirk of hers. I refuse to talk to Libby, even when she apologized, because of her America, or at least the part that reads tabloid shit, knows my face, my name, and my voice. Turns out Felicity had a microphone with her the whole time along with a recorder meaning that for the first day Morning Tea and A.M. America had hideous pictures of Dominic and me plastered to the screens of televisions anywhere along with audio of our fight. It doesn't help that these dill weed reporters know who I am, but highlight all the negatives; sure, I attended Harvard but they focus on my dropping out, have a job but it's minimum wage, and the fact that I'm dating but I'm dating my boss. Hell, I'm better known than Myra now. Now, I'm known as "Bugger Off Girl," the red vixen, "Harvard Dropout," the prime example of nepotism, "Princess Leia Hair," and, my favorite, the Californian gold digger. I think someone's selling shirts with "Californian Gold Digger" as the tagline. Rarely, people come up to confront me, however, when they do it's always awkward or hurtful. People point out that he's been married once, that his ex-wife was gorgeous and smart, and that I'm not exactly his type; most of the time, they imply explicitly that I'm not deserving of Dominic and that I won't be. Of course, by then Renee boots them out of the store or tries to beat their face in.<p>

I really have to thank Renee; she's been incredibly supportive the past three days since my little spat with Dominic by letting me hide out in her apartment from the paparazzi and defending me publicly. When a snide girl with a pretentious air waltzed into the store, took one look at me, and decided to call me a "greedy money-grubbing rat" that was too ugly for the likes of Dominic, I could only stare in frustration and tears before Renee smacked the girl straight across her nose with a left hook. Thankfully, Renee controls herself better and just curses them out in rapid Spanish to scare them off.

What about Dominic? I guess there's nothing to say. We both had a moment of irrational immaturity (I know it's redundant) and we had our first fight, not even a serious one. That's it. Plain and simple, I don't even give a drowned rat's ass about his ex-wife and I'm not going to pay much attention to her; I've seen pictures of her and she's beautiful but I still don't care, really, no one can make me care. I've got better things to do than cry over the fact that Dominic loved someone else. For me, we're so awkward that we don't say a thing to each other and, I guess, we're just too uncomfortable discussing this fight, so we just leave each other alone for now. I'm pretty sure though that Dominic is pissed about the whole barely existent Joe thing, which is why he avoids me. While Eunice spends her time guarding the door of Dominic's room like the fussy dragon she is, Dominic, as I've heard, keeps himself locked up in his room as a little child does when his parents refuse to buy him a toy. I'm not mad and I would be lying if I said that I didn't love or care for him but he refuses to act like an adult and until then I'll put in the same effort into our relationship. End of discussion.

Strata is normally empty in the morning, but since the paparazzi know where I work I have to resort to crawling in through the back door. Lowering my sunglasses nonchalantly, I'm nearly blinded by the flashing lights that surround the front of Strata. Luckily, someone notices a poor redhead walk out of Strata and they hound her with questions instead. Although, I don't know who would recognize me at the moment, what with my auburn hair tucked into a cream knit beanie and my eyes covered by oversize sunglasses.

"Corri, are you still seeing Dominic?" The girl dumbly stared into the flashing bulbs of the camera.

"Do the two of you normally fight like this?" Her friend jumped in by sticking the bird to them.

"What's he like? Does he have secret fetishes?" By then, the girl is dragged off by her friend, her mouth gaping in shock.

"Monsters!" A voice yelled from behind.

The paparazzi faced me in surprise and I do the same to the person behind me. Clad in running shorts and a thin white tank top, the person I least expect to see defend me glowers menacingly towards the paparazzi. Myra Flynn looks like an Amazon, even with Minnie in tow.

"Who are you?" One of the reporters call.

"I'm the girl who's going to kick your ass if you keep writing this trash." Tossing a WE weekly with my shocked mug on it onto the ground, Myra stomped it to death. "Don't test me. I'm the worst of bridezillas you'll meet and I'm pms-ing. Don't. Test. ME."

"Idiot, that's her sister. Myra Flynn, you know the interior designer." A blonde reporter muttered and then asked. "Any comments on your sister's relationship with her boss?"

"Can I make one with my foot up your fake ass?"

"Is it true that she joined a Satanist cult in college?" Another piped up. Minnie growled and, being the Great Dane that she is, scared off a few of them.

"Did you? Because I'm sure the majority of you have sold your souls in order to keep your job."

"While your sister sleeps her way up to the top?" The blonde asked insolently. Myra let Minnie go, unleashing a furious Minnie upon the blonde and her cohorts. The ones that haven't ran away already are being licked to death by Minnie and the ones that have been licked to death are doused with shredded pieces of their own articles, the tiny pieces sticking to their wet cheeks. Stepping over towards the blonde, Myra dumps the remaining pieces over her.

Leaning over, Myra warned. "Get out of here all of you. If anyone of you ever write something insulting about my sister again and my 'little' buddy will sniff you out and bite off your fingers. I don't want to see you, any of you, here again ever. Get me?"

Pitifully, the subdued reporters gathered up their cameras and their hopes for tabloid glory. Reining Minnie back, Myra gathered up the litter she willingly created. I don't know what to do. However, my body seemed to know as my feet began to run over towards Myra, who was dusting off her hands. Wrapping her body in a bear hug, I tried to thank her but sobbed like a baby instead. To my surprise, I felt tears drop down my neck and soft sobs roll out of Myra's mouth. Then, like sisters through thick and thin, we bawled our eyes out.

The only thing either of us could say was, "I miss you."

So, I met a Bridezilla and I think she saved me.

"Hi, Corrine." Grace twiddles her thumbs nervously as I take off my Topshop sunglasses and jacket. I return the greeting despite the fact that she's staring at something else.

Grace looks terrible and I don't mean in a superficial-fashion way; her eyes are bloodshot and baggy with weariness, her shiny maroon hair has morphed into a dry, brittle mocha brown, and, worst of all, she looks skinny. She looks like she's been shoved through a pasta roller a couple of times. It's disturbing as if she's been replaced with a cheaply made version of herself. Then again, she did move up her wedding date by a few months and, lately, surrounds herself with bridal magazines. She's even made a collage, which she hangs in her office, with the wedding dress she's wearing along with the size she should be by the time of her wedding and, hilariously enough, a picture of a cheeseburger with red lines drawn over it. What some women will do for the ones they love, oh wait, not.

"Is there something on me?" Inspecting my Ashish sequin sunflower dress, I return the empty stare.

"No, you look great. I just wanted to know, where did you get those sunglasses?"

"Topshop, in fact, a few days ago actually. Do you like them?" Playing around with the tortoise shell lenses, I freeze as I realize what had happened on that day.

Grace doesn't notice to my relief. "Of course, anything you wear looks cute. I mean Bella, Dominic's ex-wife, is gorgeous like a Greek statue but you're so cuddly and adorable that I want to just squeeze you." There was a glint in her eyes that told me that I wasn't so cute and that she wanted to squeeze me until I die.

"Thanks, I've always wanted to be a stuffed animal." I return in my usual calm, sarcastic tone. "Where's Renee? She said she'd be here."

"Oh, she's out." Grace takes a glance around the empty store and shrugs even more into her blouse. "It's about eleven. Want to go out for lunch and close down the shop for a bit?"

"Sure. I've been dying to go to this new sandwich place." Then, I remembered who I was and what would happen if I even stepped outdoors. Sure, Strata was free of vermin but there were other places they could run off to. Slumping back into a seat, I blew out a strand of curly reddish hair that loomed over my eyes tauntingly. "Actually, I can't."

Grace furrowed her brows and puffed her cheeks in annoyance. "Oh come on, the paps aren't going to hound you everywhere. You should be able to enjoy yourself for at least thirty minutes. Besides, I heard that they have awesome egg creams."

Conceding to Grace's wishes, I retort, "Well, if they have awesome egg creams…"

"Mmm, you weren't kidding about the egg creams." Licking the cream off my upper lip, I smile satisfied. Grace just watched, pushing her salad listlessly around her plate. She's barely made a dent in her plate. Moreover, she, being the one to convince me with egg creams, only has water by her side.

"It's just for the wedding," Grace reassures me. "I'm hundred and ten, and I just need to get down to hundred."

"Speaking of the wedding, do you accept money for a present?" I ask hesitantly, "It's just that I don't know you that well. And Joe likes things I doubt that any sane girl would, like NASCAR."

Letting a wry laugh out, Grace fiddled with her fork, "Go ahead. I'll take charity anywhere it comes from."

"So, are you and Joe going to move in right after the honey moon?"

"Yep, we've already found a nice house in the Hamptons. Everything has already been set."

"That's good. So, have you heard about that new promotion contest thing?"

"Yeah, I won't be eligible though since I'm already manager. You'll probably get a spot though. You've been doing well in sales, selling more than Renee ever could. Then again, Renee doesn't give a rat's ass, does she?"

Chuckling lightly, I remark, "That's true. It's all Spanish soap operas and tabloids for her. But she has seniority and when she wants, she's a hard worker. She could also probably use the money especially with the kinds of clothes she wears. Have you seen her closet? She has a floor length McQueen dress that she admits she'll never wear."

Grace drops her fork onto the platter with a sharp clang, startling me.

"Listen, I know you were there, I saw you huddled in the clothes rack. At Topshop, the same day Victor and I were." The desperation was clear in her voice, which trembled with every syllable. "So, what do you want? Money? A promotion?"

I'm so dumbfounded, I can only utter a word, "What?"

Laughing deliriously, Grace takes on a new expression, one I've never seen before, her face is stretched out like an old cashmere sweater. Wringing her thin wrists, Grace glared at me with hate. "Do you know what I've done for this wedding? How many hours I've slaved to make sure this 'thing' goes off without a hitch? Look, I've even starved myself to the point where I look like a white Ethiopian. I know how I sound and I would have laughed any other time but this is serious. You aren't to say a single word about Victor, Corrine."

My voice became strangled under the vitriolic glare Grace aimed at me. "But it wouldn't be fair to Joe."

"Oh yes, Joe. Poor Joe." Her tone drips sarcasm. "Joe told me about the two of you and your little 'past.' Why do you think he even tried to hook up with you? I told him to get it out of his system. Do you think I care? I know he loves me too much to leave."

"You're sick." I spat out.

"And you're naïve. It's so cute, how you waltz into Strata and think that things are miraculously going your way. It was I, who encouraged Rococo to nominate you. It was I, who suggested to Dominic to make a move on you. It was always me."

"You're lying." My throat tightens when she mentions Dominic.

"Really? It was I, who put that annoying twit Felicity up to leaking out your relationship. It's too easy." Grace smiled beatifically. "To show you that someone will always have power over you. At first, it was just to keep you in my grip. My invisible hand as Adam Smith would have called it. But, I found myself having fun, playing around with your pathetic life reminded me of high school. Yeah, I was that bitch. Sasha has nothing on me."

"Glad to have that settled. I was starting to have suspicions." Taking a break from my sarcasm, I paused. "If you love Victor, why marry Joe? He can't be making that much money starting as a lawyer and his family is a middle class family in Indiana. What do you even want?"

"God, Corrine, you claim to love Joe, that you're practically soul mates, and you can't even remember the one time his family gets into the news. You're stupider than I thought. No wonder you dropped out of Harvard, probably couldn't add two plus two."

"I know what my fist plus you equals." Grace laughs it off as if I could never touch her. Ignoring her, I continue. "I remember, but what on Earth do you want with an oil reservoir?"

"Figure it out for yourself. Oh, and don't bother paying for bill. I already took care of it." The tight muscles on her face began to relax as Grace swung her Prada purse over her now bony shoulder. Returning to the sweet voice I came to love, Grace showed no trace of the demon she revealed minutes ago. "Corrine, I hope we've come to an understanding. Be a sweetie and keep your mouth shut. I've played nice with you, but you don't want to see me cheat. Understand?"

I don't say a word, which satisfies her. As she saunters away, I just watch the ugly pile maroon thread ravel back into the lovely, pleasant tapestry I've come to know. My mind reeled as it scrambled to process the newly given information. Is she right? No, she's insane. Could a person really have that much power? I don't know. All I can coherently think is that I've met a Bridezilla and I think I got burned.

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><p><strong>EJK: Turns out that Grace is a bit of a monster. <strong>

**Grace:Hey, that's cause you made a evil clone to take my place!**

**Evil Grace: Ooh, you're so smart. You get a golden star. **

**Grace:Seriously?**

**Evil Grace: No. **

**EJK:Burn...Yeah, Grace in this story will be pretty OOC but I find that it'll make things interesting. **

**Evil Grace: Obviously. Don't forget, wimps, ERRS. Now, review, stupid. **

**EJK: Jesus, you could be nicer. **

**Evil Grace: (Sighing) Fine! Please review, stupid.**

**EJK: Ugh, forget it!**


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